I gave you my life, and you twisted
the stone
of your heart to be thankful  

I reveal the burning fire
of desire,
named love, to be not proud.

The irony of love is Love.  

I torture myself in dungeons
of despair
over vulnerable moments when I
thought you cared.  

The thought of love equals existence,
naught else will do.  

I know of lovers
who hate each other
I too, have been one
of this par, as if
love is worthless-
how unfair.  

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