in every sickened and twisted way
in every love story which never ends with a
heartbreak,
it isn't.
even when a poet recites it through a mere
play of metaphors,
even when a painter tries to trap it in
a canvas of a few colors,
it isn't .
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because ,
how can you expect,
a ocean of emotions to drown just a few
white stained pages.
how can you expect
a graveyard to be painted with red and blue
shades.
It isn't artistic,
when a soul beheads itself from the
darkness
which sweeps away everything like
a black hole.
