A Bad Habit

A bad habit most people who are "real" have, and falling in love is mine. Oh, falling in love with crossed eyes, and a fragile heart, (never learning my lessons and mistakes) I always lose the battles and wars, wars with mighty love, and all those girls mock me when I am down and tired. Sick and tired I am, my mind races and my head pounds with pain like a drum. All I want to do is rest, and walk down a pathway in a peaceful park, only occupied by me, and I want to dance with a black-inked pen on a white piece of brittle paper. Loving will come, but I think it already arrives when my eyes meet another beautiful girls' then I get a quick jab in the heart with a sharp blade called, "heartbreak" and I cry, cry, cry, depression sets in, death and suicide runs through the mind. I feel my heart turn pale and skip beats, and jealousy runs through my veins, when dear friends show-off their new girlfriends and boyfriends, and I cry, cry, cry. Loving for me is a fowl and bad habit, that I need to break, before I find myself with a bullet through my brain, or my neck broken and bruised by the professionally knotted noose. Oh like the drink of red wine, or the lighting of a cigarette blackening my lungs, and filling my mind comfortably, as I sit and recollect and think for a moment, and shed another bucket full of tears. .3.13.2014.