Afflicted
If these liquid notes prove not an antidote
If lime to my acid thoughts they be not
If into my ears they float but not
To diffuse into my scorching sores
mend my mind like a magic draught
if these quavers and minims and what-not
will not mute the decibel of a storm…
I fear I am a walking ghost….
to a calm madness perpetually lost.
