I really don’t write about love
It hurts you know
You don’t use ink
You open a vein upon a small canvas
Shedding essence of life
Bleeding current or past
Contorted, awkward phases
Where
What was said
Was not meant
Where
What was done in an instant
Meant more than an a thousand infinite lifetimes
A lie about love received in ones ear
Deafens said ear to the truth
A lie about love spoken
Shapes ones mouth well to hold a particular poison
The most malicious of all
The memories you and love bring into being
They never die
They age and can grow stronger
Testing your will to overcome
Taxing your determination as to
Not
Allow them to turn into emotional scars
For someone else to step parent
You see
I really don’t write about love
©Christopher f. Brown 2012
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