Is this love?
Is this lust?
Am I chasing the prospect of love
Or the real concept itself
...
I love you.
You don't know it yet
But, when I get over my fear of myself
I will love you
...
What is a lonely night to a man?
What is a night of sleeping too early and staring at a ceiling
A bland ceiling, a grey ceiling, a dying ceiling, an immovable ceiling
Wondering, yearning, thinking, formulating
...
Love Or Lust
Is this love?
Is this lust?
Am I chasing the prospect of love
Or the real concept itself
If I am chasing the prospect of love
Shoot me
It's not love! By Jehovatat's eyebrow,
It's lust, my poet
My friend
My confidant!
Love is like a cancer!
It starts off small
But as time wearies on
It grows larger until it consumes your whole body!
That's what love is.
You can't chase love
Love grows
Lust is temporary
But the problem with this situation is
I, the narrator
The author
The omnipotent being
The creator!
Am chasing the concept of love
I am in lust.
If I, the one who created this poetic universe, am in lust
What is love then?
What if lust were love? !
Or the vice versa!
Who knows?