The lips that once spilled kisses on me
Are now pressed shut when they see me.
The lips that once sang my praises
Now wish me dead.
I ought to believe that love turns quietly.
I am like a drop of rain
That fell upon the soil and disappeared.
Man is cruel—
He made love a punishment.
For once, you find love as a muse, eternal,
Something you could yearn forever,
Yet die carrying the same desire.
Even when your mind no longer wants it,
Your soul still needs it,
Still aches for it.
3d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 12:12 PM UTC
The lips that once spilled kisses on me
Are now pressed shut when they see me.
The lips that once sang my praises
Now wish me dead.
I ought to believe that love turns quietly.
I am like a drop of rain
That fell upon the soil and disappeared.
Man is cruel—
He made love a punishment.
For once, you find love as a muse, eternal,
Something you could yearn forever,
Yet die carrying the same desire.
Even when your mind no longer wants it,
Your soul still needs it,
Still aches for it.