What I Do

An attempted Petrarchan Sonnet (the iambic pentameter is a little off)

Anteros, come avenge my damaged love,

the love so spurned repeatedly by him.

Will you not come to me like a white dove?

Now I must face alone his beauty so grim;

faded photos shaded from light above,

memories and pain, filling to the brim.

My love for you, my sweet, will never dim.

If only you shared my eternal love.

When did I ask for your hand in marriage?

What I do next, I blame solely on you.

With pills in hand, I wait with bated breath

to stop my heart which hurts in its bone cage.

My escapes, the color of ocean blue,

shall bear me to He, waiting with love. Death.