My Haunt
the torrid air streams like a villain,
the craved scares from each want,
my blood drips down the warmth is cold,
and rest upon my haunt,
shadowed tears cut from each drop,
and lie within my wake,
there is no rest until I’m over,
my burns begin to ache,
the trust I gave turned dark to broken,
now hate seems more than care,
for in this birth I made it happen,
and now I cannot bear.
4-20-18
Copyright © Mario Diletto | Year Posted 2018
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