This is a disease.
People say it isn't deadly.

But
It is.

It grips hold of its host.
Making them feel miserable.

It rips open the old wounds;
buried deep inside;
to bleed and soak through the fabric of time
to stain the newly washed cloth
I just washed of all its dirt
Once Again.

It beat down the wall
That I put up
To keep it out.

For Good.

It clawed and growled and howled.
At the glowing moonlight of what was my
New Self.
Begging to have a slice of that new pie.

It got what it wanted.

It took hold of me;
Again.
It made me bleed;
Again.
It made the seas of mid-night aches
and
mid-day death wishes arise
Again.

When Will it Go Away.

She isn't a She
and
He isn't a He.

The two that make them whole
is
My Love

They have their moments;
being She
being He.
I love all of those moments.

Sometimes frilly and cute,
Sometimes suave and handsome.
The two don't **** heads.
Neither of them take priority.

They /both/ take precedence.
They're /both/ important to me.
They /both/ make me smile.
They /both/ love me.

I love Her.
I love Him.

She is my love.
He is my love.

My love.