A Story

I feel that I've told this story before.

Although, when I tell it,

I seem to want to hear it even more.

I'm more interested in hearing how it sounds,

Rather than focus on its content,

Which holds me bound,

To the same endless conversation,

To a tiresome speech

A peaceless meditation.

Why ever go into that state?

Why not eleave it, let my mind sing to its fate.

For i had always awaited brand new thoughts.

But did I give it some?

I think not.

I play around the same old tunes,

Trying to find purpose,

The codes in the runes.

What's mine is mine,

What's yours you kept.

Whenever you left,

I shouldn't have wept.

I continue to run the same conversation,

But this act of of torture is pure starvation.

I starve myself of wicked deeds,

Feeding instead on spoiled leads.

I question my sorrow while dipping my bread in milk.

There's no soother touch; it's softer than silk.