Another splatter of sanguine ink,
Bedecks an enervated page.
My core begins to jadedly sink,
As if it were dissipated by age.
Your vindictive lips part,
And your vociferations lacerate,
Profoundly into my heart.
But it is now too late.
What do you desire from me?
I endeavour to ascend,
I really do.
You spurn before you see,
It is approaching the end.
For both myself,
And for you.
There is a paucity of love and caring,
Idioms depicting an unavailing blockade.
I really shouldn't be the one crying,
For all the mistakes you have made.