The Cursed Day

This day reminds me,

How painful, life is.

Out of all the days you see,

It happened this date without peace.

Eight years ago,

In February, year twenty fourteen,

It minimizes my ego,

As it goes through my mind like an infinite machine.

Why do you think there is any hope,

While thus far I have failed to cope?

I am but a mop

To clean the autistic floor.

It doesn't stop, furthermore,

The memory in my head;

It is quite comforting that, forevermore,

This day too shall end.

I am not suicidal at all,,

Just obsessed under no will whatsoever.

It created within me a huge hole,

That is fulfilled by philosophy, forever.

Cursed Valentine's Day,

She has found a day to forever go,

It was in that time when I said,

That I will be not Tom but Tomasio.

Why do you think there is any hope,

While thus far I have failed to cope?

I am but a mop

To clean the autistic floor.

It doesn't stop, furthermore,

The memory in my head;

It is quite comforting that, forevermore,

This day too shall end.

It is true, I write primarily to escape,

The pain of the heart,

That intensifies when Valentine's spreads its cape.

This is not a work of art,

I just want to feel satisfied and serene,

As love for me, will always be as severe as a religious sin.

Why do you think there is any hope,

While thus far I have failed to cope?

I am but a mop

To clean the autistic floor.

It doesn't stop, furthermore,

The memory in my head;

It is quite comforting that, forevermore,

This day too shall end.