Insomnia strangles as it deceives me with false promises of sleep; it closes in and comes in for the kill, painfully sadistic, but always a thrill. I lie awake at night, innocently questioning the path of my life. Will it be one of wonder and love, or contrarily one of heartache and strife? I analyze every aspect as I am nestled awake, shaken to my core, and left yearning for retribution for the love that you would take. I asked the moon to reveal to me, all of our love's discrepancies. As if I was much to blind to agree that I was merely entranced by your perfumed potpourri. She pressed her face to mine and said, "Love too, goes stale, as it is not like wine but more like bread." I sat and contemplated her wise and profound advice, praying for a way to once again entice. But instead, I sit and write, hoping to earn some solace from these dark and lonely nights. Your betrayal still stings like a wound that refuses to close. Try as I may, I am still haunted by my own ghosts. I adored you with the fervour of an innocent child, yet you ignored my attempts, making me feel feral and wild. I was raised amongst Gods, given the utmost respect, until you pierced my skin and proceeded to infect. I have become toxic, your own personal Chernobyl; I have become so ignoble, as I sit isolated and absentmindedly reflect. I am a wasteland, barren and bare, devoid of life as you sold all my wares. Pillaged my village, and left me for dead; played with my heart as if it were on a thread. You used me to test your weapons of mass destruction, as I dejectedly waited for your next round of nuclear testing. You are Bush and I am your Iran, you poisoned my land as you did in Japan. I long to be free and fly away home, yearn to be asleep in this empty tomb. I am but a prisoner in this often solitary world; always an oyster, covetous of the pearl.