Love Ordeal Poem by Andrew Rose

Love is a disastrous ideal,
Something to constantly fall short off,
To hinder all progression to normality,
Love hurts and that’s the truth.

A knife could cut the body,
But there is nothing that cuts deeper that love hurt,
Nothing that hurts more than love pain,
Why do we torture our bodies so?

Sleep evades the love lost,
They lay sick with insomnias consuming blur,
Mind wandering restless alone,
Waiting,
All trace of hope is lost.

Can people die of love?
Is it possible a feeling born of ideals can harm?
Love is a treacherous ordeal,
Constantly twisting that knife in the heart.

Remorseless.

Why does it hurt so?