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.