Heartsick

The sunset glow of his cigarette fades into the nightly abyss...

Strings have been tugged and tugged on,
Ripping bits of sore flesh from their warm spaces.
Wounds, unhealed, will remain,
Oozing forever with wasted affection
Despite the twice and thrice returned
That will maintain, but never satiate.

Seeds will be planted and grow falsely,
And when the bud blooms,
Realization will always return,
And chambers will long
To cease movement.