The innocent-looking lamp
That I have known for so long
Burns me with accusations
With every wrong move I make.
Fingertip upon the bulb,
I retreat from the sudden hurt it brings.
Trying to cool it on my face soaked of tears...

NO USE

The fire still rolls within.
The memory is tenacious
As my palm hovers over yet again
Longing to revisit the source
Of the mostly forgotten pain.

Wishing it away is hardly easier said than done.
WHAT WAS I THINKING?!
That it’d be like satin upon the skin...
So soft, smooth, & inviting?
I guess it’s to much for me to stop...
Incautious me
 
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