The contact of your soul to mine has brought upon me
Every strain of love was inoculated for, accounted for
Yet your variant has infected me, defeated me
This offshoot wont kill me, it is a terminal illness
That keeps me alive, wishing for death, teasing me to live
Confining me to your absence, rendering me quarantined
Shackling me to the hurt of a million hurt
Absence is opportunistic, so is pain
These often come to visit like old friends every evening
I have little choice than to play the host
While they decorate my bedside with their hurtful flowers
Each night post your refrain to love has arrived at my doorstep
I haven't slept an ounce of peaceful sleep
My dreams are of me, writhing in pain from this constant crying
I float helplessly now in this ocean of mire, definite, dark, deadly and deep
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