My beloved child
Torn from my arms-
My phantom woumb spoils,
exsposure with no closure.
This is the sound of my violin
played until strings breaking
and still its crying and wailing
will only be in vain.
For what is love
if not to bask
in its eternal sanctuary
while rapturing in its madness.
There is no drug strong enough
no glamor glimmer or hope
for the loss of this tragic creation.
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