Potentially Perfect Poison
"Pick your poison," he says to me.
I've already taken it can't you see?
The pain I feel,
Poison, how slow to kill.
The sickness builds, it builds.
Until it reaches the surface and over it spills.
Taking over, the darkness comes,
leaving my soul, empty. Done.
Lost before I was found,
in this sadness, I willingly drown.
Hidden inside, I keep these thoughts,
no one can know it's you that I sought.
"Pick your poison," he said to me.
So I let him go, I set him free.
By another's side he stands,
No, he never was my man.
This poem is about:
Me