Love is a pit that carries on down,
With ledges, with edges.
It's why you fall and break-up.
Why it's so different for each.
Every pit is strange, but always itself.
Death changes not the pit. For life,
Again, once more would jump off that ledge.
Neither winged nor fledged. Only to hit another edge.
Unending. Unchanging, you fall, stumble, tumble, stop.
For the edge you fumble,
Craving the heart racing, heartbreaking drop.