The pain of love

She had a weakness for a hooked shaped fruit,

With an innocent, delicious red looking skin,

But the taste? Bitter, with the anger of the fallen inside it

It mistreated her, treated her like a punching bag,

The pain, the burning sensation,

She loved, enjoyed, worshiped, longed for it,

Left her wanting more and more,

The aftermath feeling of happiness and well-being it brought

Left her clinging to it, wanting more and more,

She liked to be shown the reality of life, the touch, the feel,

And it gave it to her good,

I offered an escape route,

But it’s like her heart was inscribed “wanted: the meanest chili in town”

When she was growing up,

She wanted to swim through the vats of chili on “even Steven”

But look her at her now, lying there like a doll,

Chipped lips, bruised skin, the once always vigorous chest no more, eyes looking at the roof she no see,

And all because she became addicted,

My heart want’s to rip out of its socket for her,

But then again, will I be different from it?

And it used to fume, “this is me, I was pollinated, born and raised like this,

If she no complain, who are you? She likes the burning sensation”.

Yes, she did,

And for that,

I weep.

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