Dark Love
I'm sorry...
Love is a thornbush.
Pretty to the sight
yet, in the end;
it's prickly touch
is unimaginable.
With bright red roses -
it's message
seems too fragrant -
vociferous from afar.
Romantics are obsessed with love -
the misanthropes dread it;
it's a kill-joy feeling -
an inner nightmare
of an unconcious
optimistic daydream.
You stutter the word love -
but do you regurgitate beauty?
Like a laughable idea
whose far-sided partner is
an emotional quadroplegic?.
You're clueless and
I'm a jaded wallflower.
Love is a disease -
It's like syphilis -
one never asks for it.
Innocence invades
a loner's muted thoughts
quite quietly.
Love is calculated cancer.
You try to cope with the affliction -
while the misfits around you
watch you hold your head erect
and cackle
in laughable disdain.
The unfortunates are the reality.
Everyone tans in Hell.
No one cannot help what they feel.
We are helpless -
(squirming like worms)
our morals swim like scum;
it gets tossed around
when passion hold you hostage..
Far sided beauty
is one's torture up close;
feeding off one's weakness
like leeches on dormant genocide.
From the inside out -
scars surface.
Emotions are demented -
mongoloid flavored;
unable to heal -
your will is a mutilated carcass.
Rigamortis quietly sets in
unbeknownst to you -
transparent to your and your
befriended corpses.
I'm sorry...
the air is clearer now.
Infatuation gets a second chance -
another shot without a bullet.
Why do we pine for this?
Pining to surrender -
our pride,
our dignity.
When we stand
for our independence
do we will give it all away,
without a price tag?-
Stupidity repeats iitself;
yet we still yearn
for our fictious chimera
to resurface.
In the end;
love isn't so beautiful?
Misquided vagabonds choose to
paint our idyllic pictures -
but it wont stop the torture;
because the suffering we endure
lingers past expiration...
it glides above vowed headstones -
until our consummated
death -
do we part?
It can't -
and for that
I'm sorry once more.
Copyright © Joseph Fanesi | Year Posted 2009
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