Disappointment’s chokehold grips
With icy blades for fingers;
The warm spring air brings no relief,
And desultory dreams still linger.
You, who held my hand for so long,
I fail to find solace in your embrace.
Your words neither pierce nor caress,
But just dissolve without a trace.
And you, whose laughter yet resonates,
Yes, you, who so often desired aid,
Time has taught me one valuable lesson:
I’d rather leave this task for the well-paid.
And how could I forget you?
An investment, shall we say?
I have yet to reap a profit,
So I’m cutting my losses today.
And you, in the mirror:
Demons have turned your brain to shit.
Listen to the shadows, hoarsely whispering:
I quit.
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