Love Me Syndrome

Love Me Syndrome

Another tempestuous night in Town Park, melancholy

Wild Thoughts, seeks harbor from the fell dampness.

Across an old Maple, restroom facilities, in a stall,

His Swiss Knife carves, help!- a grounded cardinal,

Over faded, besought scratches, then his number.

 

The windows behold an ashen canvas, dashing away

A lustrous moon, sour lampposts, the path back & ahead,

But in buckets of rain, runs a scarlet damsel his way.

Wild Thoughts escapes on some path, Love Me Syndrome

Skips past roley- poley earthworms stuck in puddles.

 

The gales deepen in fury. By the Maple, a scarlet,

Melancholy soul runs to the restroom, closes the stall.

She sees unspeakable markings, one freshly concerning.

A knife on the basin, she dials the splintered number,

My name is Lonesome Dove, I’ve waited a long time for you.

 

A calm develops, drenched footsteps echo anticipations.

The beautiful ones, raised to know what comes & goes,

But not what stays- saturated under fluorescent sight,

They sparkle. Lonesome Dove eases five minutes in.

Your real name isn’t Wild Thoughts. Care to know mine?

 

From outside, a whip of lightning licks the Maple,

Crackling, thickly green branches smoke up, catch fire.

They ponder a tragic moment. Is it you? He knows, It’s

Me. Tragedy. She flies, red tail vanishing in the rain.

 

That night, a tornado brewed, ravaging Town Park.

Love Me Syndrome claimed one, but not the other.

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