The sweet summer song of melancholy
Whispers hymns in my ears.
The symptoms of my syndrome lapse;
This vestige can't carry on contained.
Contact my inner confidences last,
The contour of you stays in my mind.
Contradict my memories with rebuttals --
Contrary to this concept, I wait.
She contracts my acathisia with relish,
While I clutch at the last cobwebs;
The fading feelings linger occasionally --
But not when her codeine filters through.
I don't want to be coddled by the likes of her;
All I need is the spirit of your needs --
I will negate these advances ever so heartily,
If only to be promptly and properly suborned.
She suckles at my loss for you,
Her spikes have tapped my spine;
This challenge ulcerates my compelling denial --
I won't fast forget you, my cantata.
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