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THIS SICKNESS
by Vernon  King

Don't ask me any questions,
no more crazy games...
what's destroyed,
will never be again.

My love for you,
was hotter than the sun.
You laughed, "burn, burn."

The flame has gone out,
only the pain remains.
Sleepless nights, bad memories,

What pleasure did you recieve,
from hurting me?

"Who burnt you?"
Put this sickness in your soul.
        
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Poem ID: 2324   Poem Posted: 3/9/1998
Viewed: 9967  Voted On: 205  E-mailed: 31  Commented On: 1
 
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