My glands ache,
Tormented by the scent of pine,
And spite and lust,
Deceitful little detours,
As you leave me here,
I look, I search, I glare,
As I stumble back home,
Dull throbbing of my feet keeps me alive,
Reminds me I still can,
That you won’t,
That I have,
The sun keeps rising,
And while the warmth is gone,
A new dawn for diabolical little dances,
That you and I know all too well.