Love: a sickly beast that will not subside,
Will trick you into believing it’s a friend.
It eats you up while you are still alive.
Then crawls out, depositing a dead end.
When it’s done, you are broken deep inside,
A shell, unable to comprehend yet.
Love leaves you like life’s pre-road kill: wide-eyed,
With memories you won’t come to forget.
Love breeds confusion and uncertainty,
Leaves us with a scar for the world to see.
Recovery isn’t a guarantee.
Love made a cryptic critic out of me.
Though love I do find quite inadequate,
Someone, I hope, will restore my faith in it.