While I wait for the water to get warm
I'll write you a verse.
About how love's like a door,
That most definetly should stay closed.
How love is being alive
But how it won't forget.
Come to think of it, maybe love's disguised,
And it's actually death.
How I'm 17500 mosquitos,
And you're all the blood we'd ever dream of
And I'd drink you up until I explode.
How love's a distraction,
And though I haven't met anyone after her,
I'm afraid love might lead to self-destruction.
Like the dead roses in this cola bottle,
Like my lashes batting to avoid another battle
Like how the people leave and let their wind-chimes rattle
Forever.
What's love but irrational?
What's love but conventional?
I'm made to be obsessed with it, why not just take it all?
Mind and body might never slow down.
What's love when you write about two and you're only one?