To Stomach the Truth

It's not love I don't overhear birds chirping on top of their lungs.
It's not love, not love, not love the birds—corpses sit in their nests.
It's not love I'm not in love I don't see sunshine but only dark, no light I see the dark.
My heart is still shrouded and supposedly butterflies are really maggots—mimic the essence of rot.
Oh no it's not love I don't believe in such a thing it's really a drawn out lie dressed up to trick me.
But I won't fall for it like I did last time.

It's not love. I miss your face.
It's not love. I want to hold you close.
It's not love. I'm unhappy that you went away not here… you are… not here.
It's true I love you—the birds turned to corpses and maggots tied a knot in the stomach in anticipation of pending doom.