"d figure out the enigma of love and the defect mine seems to have"
Muggle Ginger 

I’ve recently developed a hypothesis
It’s crazier than the idea of an atheist
The truth is the hardest pill to swallow when it stings like a vaccination
So I’m dealing with the fact that my love may be broken

I’ve had a broken heart but those can be repaired
With time, effort and divine intervention
The fibers of the heart can be re-stitched together
But my love – my ability to love – seems to be destructive

When you care too much, you lose what you wanted most
I wanted you; so I said so
That worked like a poison, numbing your feelings for me

My love is like a broken boomerang
I throw it out with heartfelt emotions
Hoping and waiting for your love in return
But my love never comes back at all
It doesn’t even come back as a letter ‘returned to sender’
It simply died when it was on its way

Whether in your negligence or on the journey love take us on
My love died like a single drop of water in the desert
I wish I could figure out the enigma of love and the defect mine seems to have
My love is broken like a bird without her wings
Grounded against her nature and denied to possibilities of true life

My love is withering in my own heart – you can only love yourself so much
I was ready to give you all I am
But somewhere along the way I feel like my love is not only broken…

I tried another time to love another soul
My broken love had a heart attack and died in route to the grave
It wasn’t taken to a hospital because my love was a lost cause
Something unworthy of its name; love

My love was never seen as love by any other being
It was seen as infatuations or crushes that crushed life out of attraction
So now that my love is dead, what do I have to offer the world?

We all respond to lost love in our own way
I would fight until I had no breath or strength – then again
Maybe it’s not my love you need, or even want

That’s the trouble with loving you
I overstep, overlook and over-wish
My love was just too strong for it’s own good
Now I weep in the arctic for the faithless cruelty

An arctic that I call summer from the frozen tundra of my heart
Hell has frozen over – hell has become my heart

"I must have some defect in my personality"

The tears poor down my cheeks
Like waterfalls from soft white cliffs
I start to wonder how It came to this
I was just trying to end the fighting

I started out just taking the blame
They knew it wasn't my fault
Because she was there to hold me back
Now I'm lost

My friends don't want to hurt me
But they can't seem to stop
Not understanding the pressure building up behind my eyes
With their words like daggers stabbing into my sides

I try so hard to just take the pain
As they stab me
I should just smile as the blood starts pouring out
I deserve it

I have to act like I'm okay
shes not here to stop me
and I just can't stop myself
I just want to help

Then their words sink in
They can't all be wrong
What if it is my fault?
What if everything is?

Then why fight it?
You know how it ends
Your always guilty
Just stop fighting it

Maybe I am just wrong
I must have some defect in my personality
Maybe its always been this way
I just had to lose her to see it

And now I know, I'm the defect
And  I'm breaking down
I try to run
But there's nowhere to go

I start to collapse
Tears streaming
Throat hurting
Voice cracking

My legs start to crumble
As I fall I know its my fault
It always is
I deserve it

I search through the tears
Rolling down my bruised cheeks
Blood stained knives sticking out of me
As I lay there in the darkness

All I can choke out
As the blood starts pooling
World turning black
"I'm sorry"

Just to help you understand this well the 'she' was a good friend of mine that died. Just for clarification sense I don't feel that's understood in this poem.
"th unerring aim it finds just the right defect in the wood it starts the most joyful s"
Hal Loyd Denton 

The Shed

This temporary transient visited place so common nothing to distinguish it from just a sad hovel. After entering you find the most extraordinary pieces of your history. Garden tools that your mother and father shared you remember their toiling for hours on end with them being enthralled in this simple pleasure. On the work bench a broken flower pot oh how the scent of potting soil rushes into the mind the feeling of the cool black moist mixture as you work with it with your fingers. The flower that stands so seemingly jaunty after you packed it snugly in a brand new pot. It seemed to sense its beauty did it not shoot forth the sweetest fragrance that now you believe you can still smell.

Suddenly a cloud burst and the rain begins to dance on the tin roof in fact the sound has no outward melody but in the heart what pleasure it couldn’t be better what raw power to soothe to voice such serine harmony with such fundamental materials everything comes together in this roar and deafening assault you pray that it doesn’t stop

Has the time sped by so fast now you sit in the quiet darkness and then slowly the wind builds momentum it fairly howls then with unerring aim it finds just the right defect in the wood it starts the most joyful sound as you hear creaking and moaning sounds acoustic wonders surround has the night minstrel brought yet another magnificent performance for your hearing alone. Truly it has enjoy the magic that only the mysteries of the night can produce.

On the wall there they hang in splendor license plates from the grand vacation you took as a family your dad was so proud he was able to introduce ever one to this great country beyond the borders of home and the well known paths that were worn almost to the point of dullness but now when added to the new and grander whole it renewed and made home recapture its true worth.
You step back and your gaze comes to rest on your father’s favorite place here his tools seem to hold the honored spot. How could they be more orderly? And reverently displayed cleaned and oiled ready at all times for use. Then you remember his great strong hands how he held them almost lovingly as he explained there uses to you. He seemed to be always adding new ones it caused you to wonder is he going to run out of room. The question was answered the day he showed off his brand new red standup tool box how he beamed.
It does seem some books and papers have gotten out of hand just strewn about but that only adds charm and warmth to the place. A special place of abandonment setting for long periods no order just fleeting thoughts that appear then dissolve into others as they silently enter this private world.
I could tell you more but after all it just a shed I left the door open why not go on in and set a spell I’m sure you have similar memories in this place truly time is suspended your cherished memories its only reality. The world can be stark and unkind but God saw fit that that within a small wooden structure you could find an oasis. Cool not only the physical temperature but give the mind and soul this delightful respite.

"And it's quite a big defect"

Another day, another night
Spent in the library,
hidden out of sight

I thought I'd study hard
All my math equations
But then you walked in
You're your own sensation

And now I can't focus
The numbers seem to blur
The only equation I see
Is the one of you and her

But it doesn't add up
I know it isn't correct
There's a major number missing
And it's quite a big defect

What could she have
That I so clearly lack
I can't even begin to describe
This world-crushing panic attack

Then you sit down
Right beside me
And I'm still trying to figure out
Why your acting so blindly

This equation won't balance out
This equation is wrong
This equation needs some subtraction
This equation is too long.

This equation could be perfect.
This equation could be grand.
But she's still at your side.
And this equation is damned.

"does that mean without it I am defect"

alcohol  has a lovely effect
does that mean without it I am defect
cos when I am tipsy, I'm precarious,
even been known to be adventurous.
I thought I was the dis-inhibited kind
I live life fully with an open mind
but a drink or several enhances thee,
a wanton abandon surfaces you see
and when my lover returns to me
we always enjoy a little drinkey.

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