Love

It's a more gross way of putting it but it gets the job done

Love 

Is like vomit.

It's warm at first,

Then, sour, 

When it's out.

It's disgusting.

 

Take a sip or two 

To wash it out. 

Only to find everything else

So much better.

Now this feeling 

Turns to an entanglement

Of fine silk thread. 

Red... and beating.

Pull one

It tightens, 

Pull another 

It snaps and breaks into tears. 

Finally

Only one rose appears 

Amongst the red

To blue 

As it now lays by your head stone.