Love embittered into the sourest of souls.
Bitter like rotten flesh.
Freshness, nor affection can console.
Endlessly putting the world through the ‘final’ test.

Love; said to be the saving grace.
Yet we all indulge, and love our hateful mass.
So take the wafer with a smile on your face,
Because we all know it’s a farce.

Your love is…something…
Something built on unrest.
It makes me feel like nothing,
And in this world I fester with all the rest.

Love is meant to be…
It isn’t meant to be anything
But
The sonnet that the heart sings.
It’s the one note song sung
To you, from me.

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