You tell me I'm not passionate
although, I cannot grasp
how you presume this.
Passion is a form of art.
Please tell me which two artists
paint,
draw,
compose,
write,
interpret,
express
objects in the exact same way?

The fierce kisses that bruise my lips,
he must be punishing them
for not being
her own he's kissing.
They way if she passes by,
his eyes will linger.
"I love you,"
surely is not intended for me
when she is around
(or if she is not).
The saying,
"You never forget your first love,"
is all too true.
I see it in my own first love.
I can see his pain,
although, he tries to lock it away.
I just don't understand how...
How can he love her
after she tore his heart right out
of his chest
and ******* destroyed it so that
it could belong to no one but her?