Pungent

You still reek of him, of that embrace
And yet I see no shame on your face…
How can you not see that his words are empty?
Since when is it true that not enough is plenty?

You hang on his every word, the gallows of infatuation,
The quota of time spent flirting brimming with saturation;
You’re playing hard to get, too bad no one’s chasing…
His mind feels no torment when your heart is racing.

I say, “Let go, he’s not worth your time.”
“Too bad, I’ll carry this stench with pride.”
Suit yourself then, carry a pall of tears,
Just know that water does nothing to douse fear.

The corridor of miserabilia welcomes you, child.
Dwell here, amongst lovers, haters, and the darkness of the wild.
Their humble abode beckons, dopamine ushers you in,
The gates squeal shut, and you’re shrouded by sin.

Rescue is out of the question; escape, well, you can try…
Burrow through the underground, perhaps, while he’s flying high.
Scream as demons pull you back, there’s no one around to hear;
Claw at the air all you want: it feels no pain, my dear.

I wondered out loud what hell was like: well, that’s one way to respond…
Maybe you’ll snap out of it some day, and wash up on sanity's lawn.
Until then, my sweet, I must sadly bid you adieu:
For everything starts to stink when I begin to think of you.