The people of this world are like the three butterflies in front of a candle’s flame. The first one went closer and said: I know about love. The second one touched the flame lightly with his wings and said: I know how love’s fire can burn. The third one threw himself into the heart of the flame and was consumed.  He alone knows what true love is.


We bask at the potency of our words

How we make language and lovers bend

That we could sharpen knives with our tongues

We draw blood

To compare whose blade eats the most flesh

I do not want a love

Masked as manipulation

I do not want a love

Constructed as a game

The ember in your snarl

The bark in my belly

You say you’re still healing

I too am damaged

I too mistake spouts for clippers

I am cloaked with crater-wedged scars

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By rahwasthoughts
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