Where would it take me if I let it, love?
Through the brambles of my own cruel self perception?
Would I have to look at me sat by myself?
I don't want to.
Oh but to be loved, to luxuriate in it.
Maybe it'd be worth the poking scratches of myself.
The aching wish of where I could be.
If I loved, perhaps, if I was loved.
Staying is easier, of course.
But the bleeding, stinging journey of my own heart,
That's where joy lives.
