This Flourishing Season

I wish this flourishing season would just stop. All of the anguish comes back in waves when you continue to wind me up like a toy and then let me scramble until I hit the wall again without you. My nightmare days have passed with the killing solidarity of time. Then again, one doesn't have nightmares when one doesn't sleep. Taut pain has returned to that weak spot between my shoulder blades. How I wish that there was some place to go for comfort. But none exists. There is no warmth to fall into, no feeling of anaesthesia  to acquire. The encumbrance upon my back is breaking me down. Sometimes I wish that our initials were still scrawled into the forearms of eternity. The evenings of pale light seem like paradise from here. I'm so weary, body and soul, in these cell scattered times. All of my dreams withered away blithely with the last gasp of candle smoke. Please drop this draconian display and leave what remains to languish in the rain soaked earth. I cannot take the anxiety and the misery anymore.