We talk about love like it’s this wonder drug–
This thing we inject in our lives through relations,
Your over-the-counter, round-the-corner,
Back-alley and party pick-me-up.
“Shoot me up!”
But deep down under skin, life’s lie is this:
All you need is skin-slick touches and lust.
Emotions connect in red threads that tangle and tug
You’re left with bruises and so much regret–
The cry heard by jilted hearts and hurt ones
Who want justice for broken promises–
Lovely love went missing long ago
A cry rises and lies spring out, but honestly,
“Right or wrong, love hurts when it’s gone.”
Better– Bitter– Then suddenly gone.
Like sun to rain, your head hurts and you feel again.
Everything you buried, all the ticks that made you twitch–
Treasury of dislikes unearthed to trawl through with friends who say:
“Must have been wrong!”
Only when gone do we admit love is the best thing since bread-slices.
Right or wrong, we chase a dream, we try to believe.
It hurts, it costs, it makes you weep.
But girls and boys you better believe:
“It’s worth it.”