What is Love?
Is it more than what she knows?
Black eyes and broken bones,
Blue skin and crimson wounds?

Is love that vindictive?
Abusive under the sheets,
Eager to torment,
And demean her being?

What does it resemble?
A dreamy gentleman?
Or a frightening man,
With a bloody cane?

Is love assuring?
Like the comfort she found in
The darkness of her closet,
And beneath her bed?

How does it feel?
Is it a wonderful thrill?
Or is it the burning pressure in her chest
As two large hands wring her neck?

The marks of shame she hides,
The pills by her bedside,
The nightmares that haunt her,
Is love that terrible?

Is love Destruction?
Or was it her demons,
Who invoked the monsters
In their souls?

Is love Affliction?
Is it Desertion?
Or was she too damaged,
Too wretched to be cherished?

Is love vain,
Or was she to blame?
Was she just not enough,
Not worthy of love?


2 thoughts on “A Nightmare On Love Street.

  1. “The mark of shame she hides ,
    The pills by her bed side ,
    The night that haunts her,
    Is love that cruel ?”
    Incendiary, quite simply impressive.

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