You’re both my passion and my nightmare. You’re my Paradox, my shattered vase, longing in desperation. Upon a woodblock, I have carved your inscription, and Placed it within my memoirs. I’m overtaken by this maze Of infection. And you languish within my soul, Gnawing upon my composure. Thus, within the margins, I Compose to my sorrow, alive, if only to perish in my Identity. Seismic rapture drowns me within a whirlpool Of visions, where I’m hopeful, filled with naivety. And I’m rhapsodic in my misery, enlove with my poison, Kneeling to the depth of my affliction. I’m frantic to Touch emotion, to penetrate the veil of Spirit, if only to Extract this splinter. And you dwell nearest to my Heartbeat, knifing my spirit, musing upon love letters.