Poetry

A Million Times

Why am I running a maze of torture?

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Do I like pain?
Self-flagellation?
Why do I punish myself?

Because I feel I was not worthy?
Because I did something wrong?
Because I dare to love you?

Yes, I did. I loved you.
More than you would ever know.
You sensed it. You smiled,
Yet, you played me like a cello.
Streaky, painfully high-strung sounds,
with a few out of chord cries here and there,
Grinding my nerves, playing me, your cello.

Your laughter,
my delight, my tears,
my pain, my ecstacy —

my drug of choice,

Seeing you. Feeling you
Hearing you, tasting you.
Why do I punish myself?

Going round and round,
like a spinning top on Duracell batteries.
Spinning, euphoria, living the memories.
falling back in 3D despair, omnidirectional.