Romancer of Disease
Listen. Perchance I can romance with thine permission. A chance n’ happenstance for prime commitment. This lance that stabs provides such punishment.
I see you. I know I forego this social cue. I go to the woes of the postponed n’ misused. The lo n’ behold of the groans of abused. So alone; truth be told I only know these blues.
I’m a blight; a spot on the pages of love. I’m as light and soft as cages and mud. My night’s so aloft with rage in my blood. I fight them all off as they strain at my touch.
I’m not a creep; I deserve some compassion. I’m a blot; yes a bleep of words come to relapsin’. A lot to let seep; my hum of a passion. I ought to get sleep fore it’s when I come to relaxin’.
“Harasser you are,” they label me with ease. A bastard; a barb on the table of tease. A disaster of a lark; this master of mistreat. “A class act; sure you are, you trap; you never cease!” A cancer so dark; a “romancer of disease.”
