| Ignored as a crimson left on your toothbrush
|
| I will wait
|
| Abhorred by your kin in the name of a father
|
| I will blame
|
| Valentine
|
| Curse your ways
|
| When will we begin to incessantly fold
|
| Inexorably?
|
| When will our scalps run out of colour reserves
|
| Or any at all?
|
| We must strike while the proverbial
|
| Iron is hot
|
| Though man can’t by force revoke his destined course
|
| He can curse at the madness of
|
| Valentine, the condemner and sadist of old
|
| Cursing all to a lifetime of miserably clutching at miserable straw
|
| Valentine
|
| Curse your way
|
| I need an explanation
|
| A reason for my curse
|
| The magnets have their North Pole
|
| And I only this thirst |