“No words to express,
no substance to digest,
no opinion to contest,
no view from you to ingest…
I sit dormant in the morn.
Not a single thing to say
about this season or this day,
not even a suggestion coming from your way
is regarded as okay…
I’d rather sit and sulk in scorn.
Pity myself, I will.
It’s become such a valuable skill.
Little joy, little thrill.
Magic distractions. Magic pill.
Magical fairytales I weave at will…
I hate this world in all its form.
Carry me away from this hell
that you made when you cast your spell!
I can’t believe you, you made me dwell
on that pain you knew so well…”
‘He never realized that he chose his storm.’
