Love (poetry)


Such painful love exists only for the wicked.
The twisted prison of lies,
To trap all hope within it’s dastardly walls.
Some cracks do appear,
The works of those desperate few who don’t know when to quit,
Who bash their fists against the concrete,
Screaming until their throats bleed;
“We deserve more than this!”
Showing slight glimpses of the end,
An escape from this emotional prison.

But no exit will ever exist.

Those cracks are filled as fast as they’re created,
Not by an outsider,
But by the same few who once vowed to break the barrier.
They want to escape,
That’s all they want,
To break the shackles that choke them,
Have a chance at happiness.
Yet they still fill the cracks,
Over and over,
Knowing that all they’ll do is try to make them again.

So why would one even try at love?

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