Lovelorn A sick, twisted taste of old metalPervaded in the mouth,So fresh and vile.A weak, caving chest, ever suppressedExhaled every breath of air,Silent all the while.Now, in the midst of the dark,Lies are no longer withheld.As sanity comes clearer.Retract, at the thought or the fact,At the sight or mention ofThat one windless whisper.Rash, was the hope and intention ofSeeking out solicitudeAmongst the new daylight again.She, dweller of night, should have known.Curséd to be chained,Solus entirely then.