It's
Me again
Again thinking of you
It is unfair to her that I still do
Thinking of your fair skin and faint-
touch that stirred in me a flame, a flame-
A flame that sprung fjords of warmth,
I scream to escape the madness but here I am, a
Prisoner, not of love, a prisoner of choice,
Could choose to forget all we had, could I?
No, I could not .
It's 1AM in Atalanta.
