I assassinate every ounce of brightness that graces my life for I often think
that they are nothing but shams;
sweet for a little and then turns bitter and burning to the tongue.
I drowned myself daily in every toxin and poison I know,
for the only thing I am willing to welcome is pain.
I grew not in love,
But in the comfort of all the thorns of negativity as they made home in the skin of my body.
I might never be ready for the thing they call love,
For being ready means being free of past happenings
and that may never happen because
my freedom means that my soul and my body
must shatter itself into millions of pieces
and mould itself into something new;
something capable of sweet love.
Topic(s) of this poem: love,pain