Words.

Love

Love is a strange thing.

For some people, it's a new thing.

But for most, it's a painful thing.

A thing that, when is heard, brings an awful ring to the ears of the people with broken rings.

Lost flings. Forgotten dreams. Yes. Things.

Love is what drags me out of my bed, but it's also the thing that makes me feel dead and for once, in my sad head, no words can be said.

Love is what makes my heart beat, but at the same time, makes me feels as if the only option is defeat and the soldiers that I have sent to fight my own battles return home in defeat, yet again because their own feet will not walk across the barren land that is my heart.

Love is what starts wars, but love can end them.

This war in my head hasn't ended.

I'm sick and tired of tending to my own wounds. I'd rather bleed out than be stuck in this dark room.

Ah yes, the room I lock myself away in when the getting is no longer good and all I've dreamed of was staying in-

-side my mind I find it hard to find the peace that God had once promised. I see the light at the end of a dark tunnel, all I've been doing is running.

Centuries of pacing have put me nowhere adjacent. Now I wish my mind had advance placement.

I can't wrap my head around the word love long enough to analyze it. Because the word itself brings panic behind it.

Love is a thing that'll never sing with the same voice twice. It's got its hands wrapped around my neck as a vice and it spits venom into my face as thunder runs though my veins as if it were a race that would end in my death.

But with every breath I breathe. With every muscle in my body, I will heave myself out of my own grave and shout to everything that dares correct me.

Love is the enemy.