No worse damnation than love.
A riot and torrent within a mind confined.
Mounting pressure pushing against the walls.
No escape, nowhere to escape to.
Not even in the wilderness of dream.
Not even in death-like sleep, or forlorn night.
Her onset was thunderous pummelling.
A wrenching of the soul, slowly becoming askew.
Withering heart, kept perpetual.
Writhing from the start, with no end foreseeable.
Every solution is a grand idea, and circular.
The wave has overcome and the dry shore wiped away.
The recession of the waters a decision for time.
M.M. — 20-May-2015
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