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#9

The Knife of Love

Seltala

Apr 10, 2025

165

1 分鐘 105 字

Relax and pour the concrete, they say;

the defied love meat,

Alas, it is too great a feat,

For love always seems to fleet--

Flies away, with no promise of return,

Leaves me with nothing but scorn,

Nothing but mourn,

Nothing but prickle,

For nothing is fickle,

My heart trickles,

Soul floods out onto the concrete, where the sun falls like a scythe,

With no strife, cuts like a knife;

It's far too vapid and aimless--

I want to be painless,

Where now I lay, aimless, shameless,

Nameless,

Splayed on the concrete, Worn, torn, and threadbare,

And, yet, no one even thwarts to care.

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