01-17-2018, 02:44 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-17-2018, 03:03 PM by Quixilated.)
The 69 ways
"Love is blind!" is a bloody farce.
Imagine, Bunny, this burden of care,
the burning desire to cherish your mate
even when to do so would seem crazy.
Love is cruel, not cute.
It takes a daredevil, like you, Darling,
to desire the kind of destiny
that will only devastate you in the end.
This path leads to disgrace, to your doom,
your good nature will drown
in the emptiness of loneliness for all eternity.
Extinction awaits the fool
who thinks forever won't lead to grief.
In the end guilt eats away at harmony.
No matter how heavenly the beginning
one hotheaded word hugs the lungs
in the suffocating vice of humiliation.
From that point on you face icy silence.
Immortality is for those who believe in infinite joy.
For us, karma is the kiss of death.
Maybe once I called you "Kitten,"
or said that you were adorably kooky,
and now those same traits fill me with loathing.
I find myself longing for a millstone,
like a miracle, to end this misery.
Under the moon you would swear an oath,
you are blinded by love's oblivion.
But I know that paralysis follows passion.
Sure, for now you are all puppy love,
as pure and sweet as the first rose in spring.
For now, every look is sacred,
every selfish desire becomes a sacrifice
to the savage rituals new lover's perform
all in the name of serendipity.
What a shame it always ends
with shattering of hearts
and slaughter of idyllic bliss.
Love makes you a slave, Sweetheart.
Dry your tears, Darling, I will torture you no longer.
I see my words are causing needless trauma.
I have become venomous perhaps.
Too often I have played the victim,
too often I have been so weak.
But do not worry, it is an old wound,
I no longer heed the wrenching.
"Love is blind!" is a bloody farce.
Imagine, Bunny, this burden of care,
the burning desire to cherish your mate
even when to do so would seem crazy.
Love is cruel, not cute.
It takes a daredevil, like you, Darling,
to desire the kind of destiny
that will only devastate you in the end.
This path leads to disgrace, to your doom,
your good nature will drown
in the emptiness of loneliness for all eternity.
Extinction awaits the fool
who thinks forever won't lead to grief.
In the end guilt eats away at harmony.
No matter how heavenly the beginning
one hotheaded word hugs the lungs
in the suffocating vice of humiliation.
From that point on you face icy silence.
Immortality is for those who believe in infinite joy.
For us, karma is the kiss of death.
Maybe once I called you "Kitten,"
or said that you were adorably kooky,
and now those same traits fill me with loathing.
I find myself longing for a millstone,
like a miracle, to end this misery.
Under the moon you would swear an oath,
you are blinded by love's oblivion.
But I know that paralysis follows passion.
Sure, for now you are all puppy love,
as pure and sweet as the first rose in spring.
For now, every look is sacred,
every selfish desire becomes a sacrifice
to the savage rituals new lover's perform
all in the name of serendipity.
What a shame it always ends
with shattering of hearts
and slaughter of idyllic bliss.
Love makes you a slave, Sweetheart.
Dry your tears, Darling, I will torture you no longer.
I see my words are causing needless trauma.
I have become venomous perhaps.
Too often I have played the victim,
too often I have been so weak.
But do not worry, it is an old wound,
I no longer heed the wrenching.
So that’s what went wrong there.
The Soufflé isn’t the soufflé; the soufflé is the recipe. --Clara