Love does not leave. But sometimes I do. the love itself remains the same. I just have a quirky case of runaway-train-blues. I do not feel like leaving just yet. It wounds him beyond belief whenever I choose to run away. Running away without a compass, a map or even simply a place to stay. His regrets are many what can happen to a mentally ill person-a mentally ill woman-not any woman-but his wife-how can he keep her safe where she runs and flees the people who care the most?
Love does not leave. But sometime I do, the love itself remains the same.
how can i describe ? The feelings of a hurricane jammed into a small 5 x 7 picture frame, frightened to half-death, the weather is messy in here. The moods are wild and frenzied. The person is clearly misunderstood. But how can you understand a lunatic howling at the moon?
How can you understand a tidal wave which is missing its flood?
How can you understand my foreign strange religious views? On New Age, metaphysical, occult and wiccan pagan rituals?
How can an atheist possible relate to the comfort my religion gives to me?
Or how can he understand that each and every spell i have ever done is much akin to prayers?
Should i swallow it all down, tooth and nail, beyond the pale,
that my witchcraft is further proof that i am just another manic-depressive, messy and confounded,
by my own mass confusion-by my own mass solitude?
This is all always used against me,
lit another match and burn me on a stake,
for heavens sake do something quick,
before i wander off aimlessly again…
nowhere to go, no compass, no map, no plan of attack.
love does not leave,
but sometimes i do.