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If love is kind, why does it hurt me?
Why do I feel it's a prisoner I can't trust?

I forgave it for slaughtering me with a feeling of wanting to put my palm into its cheeks. I forgive it for murdering me with all its force. I even begged it to walk me home. It's a serial murderer that I shed tears for witnessing its execution. It may push me away, but I'll be on its doorstep, knocking, with a feeling I adore.

It's like blades and knives whenever love hides me in the crowds.

                     It walked right through me, then ran with the missing pieces of my soul.