What Are You? Poem by Napa Napa

The knife of love cutes deeper than hate itself.

Love is a barbaric game played by lovers.

The heart of a million stitches bleeds with every beat.

Why do we do this to ourselves?

For the torment of finding someone that will never come.

What is it we enjoy about torturing ourselves with every slash?

Why are we afraid to die alone?

Some would rather be alone than ever love again.

Do we pity them for giving up a fight that is malicious,

Or is it we wish we could be like them to never be loved again?

All love does is brings sorrow and mutilation.

Damaged for every word unspoken, every jab displayed.

But we suffer for love. We take these jabs in the longing to be embraced in one's arms.

In the desire of loving the one uncontrollably.

Why does it leave us injured? is love supposed to hurt?

Have we had love wrong this whole time?

Is it not flowers and bliss but hate and misery?

What are you?

Why is it so hard to grasp?

It feels like a knife cutting every stitch just to watch it bleed.

For what? For the gratification of punishment?

The spight between lovers is the most brutal one can feel.

The one that can wound the most is the one that you open for love.

Who do we blame for this abuse?

Do we blame love or ourselves for playing its disgusting game?

I guess we will always lay victim to its snare.

To hold the one we claim to love so profoundly.