POEM: Pistanthrophobia (The fear of trust)

Forlorn I am, held in oblivion
In here is a gnawing emptiness
Nothing but dead air
Occupies this head
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And these eyes would do nothing else so well
But being showery
Past pains prolong this future
And this mind be wavering
Like a parched leaf on a windy day

Choleric at dawn
Melancholic at dusk
All I so desire
Is a curdling of these emotions
Would being loose be too much to ask?

Ergo,
Secret love, let me go
Broken bones scattered
Beneath these roots of lust and green
Let me be!

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