love is consumed with
continuous epic fails
repeated duration of
grand gestures
lasts all but a second
wrong side of twenty-one days
your best intentions
reflect deformed
in the mirror of
misconception
lost in a forlorn quagmire
broken faith guides blind
submission assimilations,
disparaging inappropriate
misaffection
stillbirths the pinnacle of doubt
at the height of restless fear
and miscarriages
an injustice of
defunct heirs and graces
“stillbirths the pinnacle of doubt”
what an amazing way to phrase it. never really questioned love in such a way, i guess. but i think i ought to. one really has to see the difference between black and white before attempting to view the world in colour
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