A Dying Cane Of Gold

Accursed pain hurts me, as she just maims,
And blames it so. Her gamely ways belie,
Her selfish greedy nature. She’s a bane.
And she don’t even know that I could cry.

When she sins, I’m a dying cane of gold
To hold her upright, grateful for the deed.
For so lovely a sweet grin I am sold,
To be her soulmate, even may it bleed.

Her sweet perfume is my hypnotic doom
That’s crooning (softly moonstruck) yearning dreams.
And I love this hurt like a summers bloom.
For she has me and I am like a teen.

Between this fate and any to beget
Howls many beasts upon this dates regret.

March 4, 2017
D. Atticus Izzopac