Anguish

Tis' a poor heart this, slashed and slain.

Intimately familiar with the contrivances of pain.
Anguish flowing like it were never meant to stop,
Swirling amidst the waves and in every cursed drop.

But let there be no mistake made 

In knowing which way my thoughts swayed.

I only speak of a loss of real love

No regrets held, no anger brewing on the stove. 

They say time is a healer and she will cure,

In a hundred years, she will I'm sure,  

But now, who do I chastise with this lowly flame

When all I have is myself to blame?