There is a disorder in my loves,
And love does conquer all after all,
All must bow to love.
But I cannot bow enough,
Cannot tear enough
Cannot rip out enough of this thrice-damned pride
To crawl away
And cry for help to those that can aid me.
I cannot weep;
I will not let myself
So I condemn myself to agony,
Knowing that I must turn,
Must change,
But these changes are difficult for a reason.
They cannot be made alone.