The Devil You Know

I could sit, on the floor,
better yet, kneel, to implore,
But even if you were worth the effort I would build a fort by day and a fort
-night, will not have passed without me wishing you the same plight I hoped for with fervent might since you crossed my line of sight,
I could lift and would gift a tonne-loaded forklift to anyone that could tear you a new rift
-Valley that you may sink deep into an abyss too dark for even mist to shape-shift.

In my sighs I learn that the devil cannot be burned for no urn can contain such scum,
And in my lies I find that it’s just my turn to feel the pain of the scrum I am forced into by your pattern of being perturbed,
I could, in my outcry, shed a tear, act concerned, fear that your love I have earned,
But I would sooner, in my decrying, find a grave for the sun next to where the unicorns from your barn reside.

It’s all pointless, futile and relentlessness eases no stress,
But alas in all my motions I act like your morning lotion, lightly caress and fade away into your breast,
So why is it such a complex process, a Herculean task hardly as easy as the mythical tests?
Would you prefer if I suckled like a child from your chest and made my life your armrest?
Would life feel simpler if I became a healer and proclaimed to offer the cure to my Detest?
Should even the latter be possible and I could create a mouthful of medicine to deal with myself,
There would be no point being any less thankful for what only a handful such as yourself
could bestow to one obstinate little elf, fending foes to acquire the only inextricable wealth,
Education by experience, brought to you by an abundance of pathological attempts to retain control of self.

Who am I on this lonely planet we call home?
Another free spirit to live free, die young, find love in Rome?
Or another decreed outlaw sentenced to eat with pigs, die hung, find ‘have’ in a poem?
Does it matter which hand I choose to feed from if it is not my own?
What worth is to be the decision of one who has none condoned?
Enigmas in translation, find no meaning in semantics or diction, this must be a chapter even that deity never closed.

Yours in perpetuity,

Evans Mbora Campbell.
~Home Alone~

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