Words like scorned lovers taunt me;
whispering in dark places on dark days.
Gnawing slowly at what fragments remain of my mind.
Constantly repeating, growing more insistent –
Appeasing them only in the moment of silence when I can let them run their course.
Their satisfaction is fleeting – coupled with torment;
as they scurry about their duties, unraveling what
remains of me.
Passionate voices driven by the desire to be emptied upon this blank page –
Using me, adoring only as their purpose is fulfilled and then –
Quickly and quietly tip toeing out the door.
Cold and forgetful – satisfied in their retreat.
Calling upon me with vicious affection in these weak moments.
Desire giving me purpose and unable ignore their advances.
And yet we are symbiotic.
They are no more animate then this page allows – then my hand allows.
Vengeful only in my obsession to stifle them – to use them as they have used me.
I will let them have their way with me, with this tired pen
And then –
Once more sit idly hoping to feel the warmth,
the soft glow of passion fulfilled.