Oh, to wallow in pain—
Such exquisite ecstasy,
To rouse a spirit dulled by the narcotic of normalcy.
Oh, to be wracked by heartache,
The most intense anguish of all,
A clock that awakens even the most cynical souls.
Oh, to drink life from the chalice of tragedy,
To be the wine of your own bleeding ode,
A saga spun in voice and ink.
And for a moment, you taste it,
That sacred chaos,
You yearn not for peace,
But for the feeling itself.
Until at last, there is no more yearning—
Only the ache,
Only the beauty,
Only the ode
To feel.
