Afflicted

This is the way of all
those cursed with
my affliction

Scribing into the night.

This twisted need to
immortalise old hurts
and scars and flames.

An ode to that broad
who tore out your beating
heart and left without
bothering to give it back

The kind that leaves you
with nothing but one less
piece of your soul
and a story to tell

So pierce my heart
with a broken promise
and I will bleed the
instruments of your
apotheosis on this
here piece of paper

Ambrosia born of cheap
whiskey and the echoes
of an empty soul

For ours was not that
wholesome kind of love.

Her ghosts got along
with my demons

And at the time
it was more than
either of us dared  
ask for...