There is a shrapnel wound
At the nape of my neck
Tracing crimson deceit
In an eclectic pathway
Trickling over ridges
Of my fractured ribcage
Love is an explosion
I was the site of damage.

We were reckless hours
Crammed into ticking seconds
We raced time
Beat it to the finish line.
We were a thriller
We only got
The acknowledgements right.

I'd paint us in eloquent words
Masquerading it
Into an artform.
But we're no shooting stars
We're grotesque,ugly
Despicable scars.
You see
Love is seldom poetic
It's the casualties
We remember it for.