Bitter memories frolic across my mindscape,
Filling it to the mid point
And then threatening to raise the tide over full,
Love and love’s past explode between my ears,
With fears materializing into loneliness,
But hey the glass is half full,
Loving many means loving alone,
Because no one wants a beggar,
“Alms! Alms for the poor”
And love. Don’t forget love.
No one wants.
No one wants to look through the colored glass of your soul,
And see pity.
Pathetically crawling, scratching,
Spilling everywhere over all your insides,