The Curse we carry...

Sadly,

And I’m sure you agree,

Love isn’t perfect,

No cut and dry subject,

And still we cling to it unabashedly.

I go back in time,

Pick memories from our prime,

My attempt, you see,

To shelter, to preserve,

To build a sanctuary,

When threatened to dissolve.

Each day I get wearier,

But still I persevere,

My fingers, they bleed

From thorns that outbreed

The soft petals that I try to gather.

And sadly,

Here I am, absently,

Picking at scabs,

Snapping like crabs

At all that comes

To absolve me.

For isn’t it Life’s

Pretty little curse

The more you love,

The more you nurse

A heart that may not

Be broken,

But nonetheless, is as great

A burden.