Everything Is Spoilt By Use

Everything is spoilt by use
Perhaps, to your dismay
You will stand for my abuse
And never slip away
How your cup of autumn’s wealth
Will overflow the sky
Pleasures all intangible
An anthem soft and sly
So put your tension on the string
Echoing, a warning
Fraught with fear and detached
From all those gifts, sincere
Trust, I’d spite to keep you near
Everything is spoilt by use
And soured with decay
Still I stand for your abuse
On prominent display
And you could have the languid winds
The harvest carols, clear
But you’ll accept the stillborn spring
As long as I am here
So you can sing your songs of red
As crashing dawn comes swarming
Dulcet-eyed as fever taxes
What you broke;
No reprieve from all bespoke
Ever winter night
(Soundless and yet, cloying)
Set me free
(Dear misery)
Sing a song of red
A long, unraveled warning
Wayward one, how I liked you better
On your own;
Happiness is never home