I am an
Ignorant
Stupid fool
My green eyes
These tears roll
My pale face
I gaze
Far into my soul
And I see
A fragile
Foolish me
To think
I could
Be
Happy
All I needed
Was
a simple
Look into me
Broken,
not whole
You know it’s not
Real
What he says
What you feel
Your broken heart
Your streaming
tears
Look at yourself
These
broken mirrors
Let go of him
False happiness
it will never be
Worth
the risk
The fear bubbles inside of my soul,
Dreaming of feeling that way again.
The misconception of feeling whole,
A sickness that most humans commend.
When the day dawns upon the people
To realize that love is not the cure,
But the deadliest of all evil
Diseases—all-consuming, impure.
Fortunate me, or fortunate not,
Having learned the truth about romance:
A self-inflicted, assisted gunshot.
Love is the nastiest of all traps,
With the damage it forces on souls.
Innocent, healthy people collapse.
Grotesque and bloody gunshot holes.
I swear my words to you are good natured,
Rescuing your soon suicide mission.
The virtuous ones are the most favored.
A hopeless fall against your volition.
Acknowledge my promise to be most true.
Love comes about when you least need it to.
My mind still strayed to his sweet cheek kisses,
While writing this hating-love poem to you.
Songs of Existence 