LOVE IN SICK BED.

Pain is in the head,
The heart tears itself apart from the life spring
And love has been silent for two weeks.
I do want to call,
But the bed has become my comforter in pain
And the thousand drugs that were bitterly swallowed through this mouth
That once confessed the love brewed for just you,
Make my chest want to explode with boiling rage.
It's just that I miss you
And want to hear your voice
Though your face is veiled in the distance of time.
Your love is sick
But you are happy somewhere else.
Will you ever call or text,
Or will you forever be a girl
Until a woman comes by my sick bed
With a pot of soup and kisses of love?

Author: Benjamin Anani

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