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Bitter Love

Love is a beautiful thing, and yet it leaves us broken and wilted in the aftermath. Such a shame, to be forever tainted by the people we hold so dear.


To be in love:

a devil’s game,

for one will want to part

and go along

their separate way;

to leave a poison dart.


To be in love,

with poison taint

left coursing through the vein.

A cursed trip

with romance faint;

by chance, a derailed train.


To be in love:

run off the path

and into solemn mist.

Entangled lives-

at vines they grasp-

connections come and missed.


To be in love,

with wires crossed

and signals growing dim.

No longer sparks,

but winter frost

that bites each hand and limb.


To be in love:

the wounds as proof

of memories sublime.

Just scars remain:

a bitter truth

like fruit just past its prime.


To be in love:

a rotten game

for, if one wants to part,

the other’s left a spoiled name

tattooed across their heart.

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