C Minor

When these miss you days are the coldest, I draw your picture on my wall.
It simply covers the boring, heart wrenching nothing at all.

Condensation drips from my iced windows within,
Desolation, isolation, deafness drowns me in my sin.

The captivation of no consolidation for this loneliness I feel,
Each morning I awake is a new turning of my wheel,
Of fate and dishonourment that claws down my spine,
The sounds of destitution screams and whines.

My condeming conscience mortified at my desire,
Although I'm cold to test and touch - my soul does burn with fire.
My craving chokes my throat and gut, my limited breathing struggles,
My head is dead through confusion and thought, a weighted filthy puddle.

I'm missing from my family
I'm missing from my sons
I'm lost and leaving - yet gone for months
My sins are done.
I can do nothing.