gigondas

why do we lie to ourselves about how easy love is?
it's goddamn hard,
it's next to impossible to sustain for most of us

there's a lucky few who can
most of us are fucked from the start

look around-
most of us struggle and deceive ourselves
there's this constant self-hypnosis
this mumbling of inane mantras
silver linings
'never-ending math equations'
gifts and gold
planning
signing contracts
having kids
writing poems
claiming it will never end
while knowing
it wil
indeed
end

"this feeling is overwhelming
it must be love
it HAS to be love,"
your certain tone spiked by uncertainty,
"why can't it be love,'
lying on the dirty bathroom floor
hugging your knees to your chest,
"i saw fireworks
i tasted hony lips
the Earth moved didn't it?"

(you had tripped
your spinning stopped by your failing
you'd fallen again)

and, the Earth,
the Earth is always moving
and the honey was an artificial layer on her lips
and the bright flashes of light
sparks between bouts of blindness

don't worry though
you're not the first

hell
you're not even her first.