Phil Naylor Poet I do not know?

Love Is Such a Viscious Thing

Its rotting, I don't know why, but it is- 
The shock to find that death lays inside, 
Quite literally. A lump of stone, cracked for some time. 
No use or purpose, serving only as a constant reminder. 
Red droplet stains are all that’s left- where once great rivers ran. 
When you took your axe and cut me deep from sharpened tongue, 
I had no way to stop the flow, 
So slowly died. 
From red it drained of all its color, 
And now is split, an idle block. 
As blade to throat of sacrifice- 
Or stone to frosted glass, that's how it was! 
You scarred me, a scar that even I can't see, 
But still I feel. 
And how it felt?. . .As if inside you were let loose, 
Swinging axe to all you set your eyes. 
And now abandoned, a disregarded wreck, you cast me out- 
You set me sail to oceans to remain. 
Forever present, yet not, the soul has gone- 
and all remains is an ever floating shell. 
Until it sinks, as did my love, in my hearts blood. 
Love is such a vicious thing.

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