Poem 3

I’m not going to start with sorry.

You know as well as I do that under pressure, even the most robust systems are bound to cave in.

Like a paper house lit aflame,

I became prone to slowly turn and crumble to ash   

As the smoke overwhelmed even the most basic of senses.

I am not afraid to talk about it now 

I no longer writhe in the burning that coerced me to relieve your autonomy.

I cannot fathom the end of you.

And even now, when you beat with irregularities,

Falter at the base lines and tremble with anxiety,

The only concern I have is that of you.

Do not falter for me, my beauteous sustainer.

I only wish for you solace within my inner-most chambers.

Flourish in the flow of connected, harmonious valves.