Wallflower
A tale unfurls,
As a doe-eyed boy
Bumps into another,
In a crowded hallway.
A sensation overtakes him,
And he falls into hopeless,
Desperate, cloying,
poignant love,
And it eats at him like
maggots to a dirty, rancid, flea-bitten corpse.
His eyes grow glassy,
Stained glass murals of
adoration,
Like windows in a temple of
Venus,
Where he has become a
fervent priest.
He becomes a nightcrawler.
The stalker in the eves,
He watches the object of
his affection
From pining shadows in the
corner of a classroom.
Hell hath no fury greater
than his,
Upon seeing the Queen Bee
flirt with his man,
So he attempts to shoo her
away,
From a distance, with an
invisible flyswatter.
And he hopes so purely
That he shall fall out of
young love,
Which is so powerful a
force
That it overthrows even
gravity.
Alas, he is entrenched,
Trapped in a mire of candy hearts,
And chocolate boxes laced
with cyanide,
For that sweet taste of
bitter almonds.
He sobs into a pillow,
And drowns the poor thing
in sorrow,
Then assaults the pathetic
thing with his wrath,
As he is getting ever so
impatient.
With a cleaver in hand,
He threatens a mirrored
life,
As he falls into madness,
Onset by Cupid’s piercing
strike.
A lovestruck fool of a boy
he is,
Passionate to a fault,
Sensitive on a whim.
What a terrible affair.
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