There is a great curse on earth,
One that is beneath the head,
The curse is a strange feeling,
Men call it love, lust…
But I say it’s a feeling
That makes you long for someone
Whereas that person may/not long
For you as you do for her,
If she does not then you live as though
Under a curse—
The sight of her
Engineers a space within
That weeps as a child
Suffering from a generational curse.
Thoughts of her make the mind working
Throughout a sleepless night—haunting.
Her inaction pierces but you can forget…
Conversely, should she leave?
A prick alone heals untimely infinite…
If she feels the way you feel…