Armastama

Love never seems to be enough.

Like a farmer you work

and work and work...

harvest time arrives and you have

nothing to show for it.

Just a lot of dirt. [Hurt]

Love is a master illusionist.

Master of trickery;

making you feels things,

making you see things,

to then just ....

Vanish.

Like it was never there.

Love is a like a promise that is never fulfilled.

You hope and hope,

pleasant fruits of your labor seem so close,

you can smell,

taste,

behind your eyes you can see...

then you get punched,

a scar on your face.

What type of promise leaves such a bad taste? [Yours]

Love is a drug. [But much more costly]

Its addictive

and bursting wih temporary satisfaction.

And you work,

work,

work,

and you are left with such disappointment

and dirt.

Love is dirt.