Love - the oldest type of torture.

It started in the Garden of Eden,

It dwelled within our history

feeding on our human nature.

Love - it breaks, it hurts, it smashes

Heart and soul, body and mind

Until you’re nothing but piles

of blood stained wings.

Love - how I survived this torture?

Or am I still alive in spite of all?

I always ask how can it be that people

Don’t sense the rottenness inside.

I have no clue, advises I’m not giving

To all young hearts doomed to repeat my pain!

I wish that I could pray, but words are worthless

When Love becomes my favorite play.