I know so, because I do
Love
Enough to somewhat vilify the word
As it hints at, or, opens a window
To the possibility of
Temporality.
The amount of time my love has gone
Unrequited, or whether it was
Ever reciprocated,
Is as irrelevant
As your
To one who will not freeze on the spot
Upon hearing it uttered.
I love you, healed
As well.
I love hating you, because that hatred
Is the only thing that hurts and maims
Whenever I doubt I can feel
Anything at all.
I would
Self-mutilate
To chase you away,
But every physical agony is blocked out.
Nothing
Compares to when you
Ripped my soul from my body,
Offering a pain worth
Dying
On the spot.
What remains, are just receptors
Firing up to maintain
The procreator,
Or something equally
Boringly
I love you, annoyingly truly; real,
And I spend my time
Halfheartedly
Trying to convince myself it is just
Better to have lost, than it
Is to have never…
Once…
—
18-12-2022, M.A. Tempels ©