(Heart beats)

What does it all mean actually? Love.
The thing that we all chase, feel, abuse, anticipate and yearn for.
No money can buy its power. No fortune teller can predict when it may happen. We seem to be in denial about it. Some of us have it and forget about it, like an old pair of shoes that we were once excited about but now just look at as something that once gave us this amazing feeling...only to fade and be thrown away. Why do we just forget and throw it away? Why does that excitement fade? Where does it go? Is it instilled in us as people to naturally get rid of what once made us feel good? Maybe it's the distraction of others? or the tarnish over time?
I have no idea. I try not to ask. I've been fooled by my heart so many times that I have no idea what my mind even thinks when encountered by the fury of love, the captive eye of its emotions. "We were young" "No good thing last forever" "I don't know what happened?" The excuses. They never match up like the wrong pieces we try to force into the puzzle. Why do we try to make it fit? Why is love so complicated? And why is it so abused? "I love you"... "do you?" We say in our head...self consciously...because trust is an issue. But we instead say "I love you, too" to help break our fall. Falling helplessly hoping to grab something to stop us from breaking, shattering like a piece of glass and love was the hand that couldn't handle us...so they let it go to break. "I'm sorry"...are you? Because you once said "I love you" are you just saying things to help yourself of your dazed condition? Are you just a malicious heart seeker? Do you still "love" me? Or was this all a dream? That's what love is right? A dream... A moment, a thought, a figment of ones imagination, sleeping for hope, only to wake up and realize it was never real. I pray the idea of love changes like all does over time. I hope it becomes more of an art form and not a skill. There is a difference. The art form is created off a skill but the art form isn't something you practice...it's something you internally create and lasts a lifetime. Others see the art form and get inspired to want, do the same...or so we hope.
Love isn't extinct...it's not fading...it's not to be forgotten. It's just stopped being created. It's not being treated right...it's being abused and forced to do what it wasn't placed here to. So I ask again. "What does love mean?" "Why is it still being abused?" Will its art form be remembered...if it dies?

What is love...
(Beeps start to slow down)
why'd you take it from me...
(Beeps slow down)
What is...
(Flatlined)
*What
          Is
               Love?

She said I'm Honey,
A sweet blessing to her tongue.
Would you like a taste?

Her lips are a taste of heaven,
Since our first encounter,
I knew there'd be a place for me in hell.

I tasted heaven on her lips.
How can love so pure,
Be piercing sin?
If the shadows of hell,
Are where I shall be outcast alive,
I'll go so willingly.
Behind scarlet flames,
The beauty of our love survives.

She was poetry,
The way her curves aligned,
Bouncing out the walls of a perfect physique,
I could write verses of her.

She was music,
Her voice would rhyme it's own articulate songs,
Roaming the airways--
Her voice traveled down halls,
Lined With famous portraits,
She was the "Mona Lisa"
--of poetry.

She was the sun,
The moon,
The sky,
She was life,
AND she was temptation,
The chill down my spine,
When foreplay leads with ice,
When water melts and maneuvers itself in hot places I never thought,
Felt good cold.

She was poetry,
She was music,
She was Life,
She was temptation,
AND she was beauty,
Most importantly she was everything she wanted to be and more.

Am I not enough?
I'm treated like an unloved,
Avoided of touch.