My heart’s been ill.
I’ve squandered emotions through and through,
Reproducing no means of hearty fullness,
Feeling no bliss or elation as they say you should.
No.
The core of my being, tinted blue once more,
Has left a puddle of pale frustration.
I’ve been treading these waters for much too long,
And some have confessed to drowning here as well,
Feeling a twinge that is mine, perhaps, carried onto the souls who’ve fallen into
My puddle.
It was no intention of mine,
To bleed such a full and thick liquid
That should close in and around all who come in its path.
It was no intention of mine, to trip and to drearily wander
Into a slimy web that swallows and steals from the soul.
And then, after thrice stripping a fruitful and well-intentioned objective,
A new confused soul moved on to a new purpose.
It is a wonder as to whether or not the next target will come out wounded.
I don’t think the bleeding would be so terrible
If I could be caught, just one last time, in a web of better intention,
In Goe’s web.
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