in the midst of the confusion,
in loves last dying throes
was the source of the illusion,
and all the worldly woes
the heart ache and the mindfucks
the joys and jubilations
the jumping ins, all far to quick,
the unsure hesitations
the fuel and the fire,
both the love and the hate,
disgust and desire,
and all from one place.
but, all, i lay blaming,
within this melee,
of a life, naught but waning,
will the truth set me free?
for,
all the torments and the pain
all the feelings still contained
all thats driven me insane,
the source, my heart,
blessing, and bane.
if, without it, i could survive
still beating, i'd tear it from inside
and burn it, with the utmost glee,
and ruin it, as it did me.