I Feel It Too.

Do you leave me
to feel emptiness
paragliding
across your glazed eyes?
 
Do you hold soft fingertips
to remind yourself  
how I pine,
how I torture myself?
 
Plaster me up in casts
and lay me
for now you know
how I crave.
 
Obsession, it's love for an angel,
the naive who wear special glasses.
Our ideology lives:
a divine, great love
but in this torture  
love is not love.
It is sold to ransom,
to a bid too high,
I can't compete
with the competition.
It's alive.
 
Oh, let me drown
in a bathtub,
let me leave
this blackness.
Your eyes are still glazed
as you give yourself over
to her.