Love Like You Mean It.
by: berf
Keeping my heart wry
Was never something I,
A novice at the game
Of love, that fickle flame,
Could greatly grasp within my reach.
And seldom could I teach
My stubborn eyes to stay
Affixed upon the fray
Of former lovers snapping,
Clawing, breaking and trapping
Their sights inside their heads
To never see the dead
Remains of their passion,
So highly kindled in their fashion,
Only to grind and crash in time.
I knew it was a prime
Example of the thing
That every love would bring;
And yet I could not keep
My dreams, so free in sleep,
From turning in great danger
To your face, a pseudo-stranger,
Your smile, your eyes, your hands
Every detail that stands
So prominent in my mind.
So when I came to find
The lipstick on your neck,
Your own mouth, pursed for a peck,
A harsh reminder for yours truly
That, obviously newly,
Your hand was not free,
As I'd hoped it would be,
It stung though I'd expected
That my heart would get rejected.
So, again, I'll hurt,
And my responses will be curt
When you ask me how things are,
So close and yet so far.
Keep your concern to yourself;
I'll just put this on the shelf
Of past heartaches, not yet numb,
And wait for those that still will come
Because my heart can never learn
That love will only burn.
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I'm pretty proud of this, myself. Writing in this fashion is extremely difficult, so I'm sorry if you find the flow to be slightly awkward in some places. Any suggestions to improve that would be eagerly welcomed.