Love is not patient. It is a shriek.
An animal war cry hurled howling against honest probability
Equal parts pride & terror,
want & revulsion
Forgive me this: the tiredest idea
But it is wood rot, deep in the rings of the tallest of trees
It is a wounded battleship; listing fast, but guns all bristling ardor
Love is the wounded lion. Never more dangerous
Love is not kind. It is a truncheon.
Its wide and swinging arc approaching zenith--
--something between a dull thud & sickening crack.
It is blood and tears and bruises that heal but all too slow.
It is equal parts attack and wound.
It is a wanton warlord, whistling as it slays.
Love is the prowling antagonist in each our bloodstained hearts
Love wants. Absolutely!
You shittin' me?
All Love does is wanting.
& grasp & claw & claim & take & pry
It is the swelling famine spirit, devouring, in the end, even itself
Love boasts. COME ON, now.
It is every aggrandizing lie, that ever
seeped
rolled
dripped
spilled or boiled
from my forked & putrid tongue.
It girds itself in the armor of its own unearned self-assurance.
It carries the aegis of the ever-ready, the always-argument;
self-insistent.
It is the drunk friend you thought you had, in the kitchen.
Wine stained kisses.
And I place myself beneath it still?
It is a villain, a liar, a wailing brat.
Love is a predator, shadowed claws.
It is too much.
NOOOO...I don't REALLY hate love. I gueess.
