Architect of Despair
Woe is me, my mood is sour,
My heart is heavy, and my mind a mess.
I've done it again, an act so dour,
My eagerness, naught but a source of distress.
Love is beautiful, but it's bite quite dire.
When, upon refusal, a hollowness to condone.
Intentions wonderful, but their recipient like stone.
My feelings like ash, swept from a dead fire.
Every time, like a badly-closed wound,
I bleed profusely, beyond compare.
What else should I expect, my fate is bound,
I am my own Architect of Despair.