four letters made from the sand of misery and ocean of sadness.
yet, they make songs and movies like a garden of rose.
love? isn't what they call for?
love. drowning themselves in this puddle of trust issues.
love. entangling them in this web of loneliness.
for,
how was love warm
when my sister was left cold on the aisle with her wedding dress and promise ring embedded on her stolen heart by some moron?
how was love calm
when my best friend screamed every time the name in her pillowcase which was being called by some other mouth?
how was love enchanting and mesmerizing
when i was left numb by bruised scattered all across my porcelain which deserved to be mapped with fragile touch from the very start?
how is love sung in ballads as the shape of some human; for our hearts and bones aren't meant to preserve something so pure and alluring.
how do you breathe the air filled with stardust from the lungs of gravel from sidewalks?
how did tie your tongue into a knot and sewed "i love you" on my stone cold heart?
god, you were such a fool
for you thought i would drip glitters from my sparkly sad orbs in the memory of your rusted pecks on my cherry cheeks;
forgot my black ink turned into diamonds which melted away mine inner broken mine made from your petty love talks.
alas,
if i walk down the street and find a cupid;
i would break his bows and arrows; for it isn't worth to be in love
and still feel only pain and sorrows.
