Oh, the world screams,
Commands, prays, persuades—
"Don't drink, it's not good,"
"Don't smoke,"

Don't this, don't that.
Their voices, sharp like daggers,
Carve rules into my soul,
A warning etched in stone for the weak.

But where was this world,
With its words, its rage,
When I loved?
When I fell, unguarded, unarmed—
Into the arms of the cruelest poison of all,

Love.

Oh, they call the bottle a killer,
The cigarette a slow death,
But nothing—nothing—
Consumes a heart so ruthlessly
As love does.

And now, as I lay upon this fragile bed,
The weight of the world pressing my chest,
They gather, their whispers:
"We told you, didn't we?
See where it brought you?"

And I, pale as the moon in mourning,
Smile with the last flicker of life,
A quiet defiance in my cracking voice:
"No—
The poison was love."

I am free