A fever has never broken like a spirit
The hammer an ill fitting tool for the slit
The concealed scarlet touch reaching through
Presents a tempting process long overdue
What may take a life time to comprehend
A prospect close at hand is the end
An empty bottle but the rattle of one pill
A sentenced prescription in need of refill
The bed made comfortable but for one
In the hollow fingers are allowed to run
And who enacts sweet love to the obsession
Then settles, exhausted in the depression.
Life was not made to be easy
Who told you death would be?
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