Stop! In the name. from 'PTSD notebooks'

The word's not worth the word, my love. Aye

The rub: the word, my love, if it's sealed it isn't

Empty. Simple. The word's perhaps. Period.




Perhaps not even perhaps. Sure, the word's not worth

Trouble, not yours for sure, but the trouble doesn't exist.




Let's pretend the purest illusion is this self-belying word –

But illusion doesn't exist and the word is not love –

And we wander nightly in the heat of snapping palms.




Even as you go on betraying the word I love, cursing it

With damaging say-so, eye it, my love; the rub suggests

Something sealed, simple; when it comes down to it

Nothing other than acceptance; nothing pushed; no void

Exposed. Come now and let's pretend the word's worth love

Please leave it to others, my love, for all want's consuming.