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Poetry: The truth about love

I'm in trouble again!

I just can't help myself

Use me baby, use me up.

Her type has never been the type to pay me back.

In full!

Underneath that cold bronze exterior,

Lies the lies of a cold bronze interior.

I'm beyond inferior.

She's built to outlast me

She knows I've given up.

I just can't help myself

My obsession

My depression Her joy!

The truth is

(about love I mean)

When you're sick of it, it's your only medicine

When you're blinded by it, it's the only light you see.

She's the only smell that I smell,

the only taste that I taste.

The most horrible, despicable, beautiful, delicious, disgusting, undesirable, desirable taste.

I hate that I can taste love.

I hate that I ever met love.

Wish I could dive into coma and forget love!

But she'd find me.

Come tap me on my shoulder, creeping from behind me.

And remind me I can't live without her.

That's the truth about love!

She's wonderfully poisonous



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