Love. . .

If only such a passion washed ashore—
A gift to endlessly adore.
More so than the petite *****
Who just walked out of my door,
Dragging my heart by its strings
Streaking blood down the steps
Thumping and splattering
Down each landing
Thumping and splattering
Streaking and smearing blood,
As a trail of temptation
leading me to find her again—
Like a hopeless addict looking for his next fix.
You’ve lead me on
And tightened your grip
You’ve lead me on
And my only hope is that
Once your are through
Torturing the remains
Of this mournful existence  
There is something left
For someone else
Far more deserving
When love washes ashore.