The festering wounds Still smell; Like the rotting covenants; Kept in a trove, Of useless trinkets; Within that monolithic heart. A dash of cinnamon, I meld; Into a tincture Of vanilla and mint; Hoping to disinfect, This indisposed obelisk. Oh God! Let it be Conciliated, soon. For, this is a blatant mockery; Of what life ought to be-- A blighted existence, To be accursed to love. Accursed To Love #accursed #yqbaba
