slowly being pulled in two:
a love for her and a love for you.
trying to hold, trying to slow,
trying to avoid letting either of you go.
in the end I must make my heart
choose one or split apart,
between life's warmth and death's release,
I might progress or I might cease.
for now, I wander around half-dead,
half-filled with love, half-filled with dread.
(perhaps a zombie, poor circumstance,
least I don't eat brains with limbs askance.)