The Broken Glass Of Loveships
You can’t let him go is the surest sign of possessive obsessive love.
Covet. Control. Can’t function without knowing. Good or bad shouldn’t matter but it does. And it sickens that which lies beneath every canvas.
You want to be loved back but you can’t feel what you want to know when it arrives. Where’s the match?
Like teenagers in love with rock stars. It’s real.
Fine line between love and hate when one person does both and the recipient does neither.
You’re embarrassed to claim love of flamboyant rich man, so you hate with the same fervor. Nobody will be the wiser, but your subconscious maneuvers give you away. It’s an old and worn phenomenon. Nothing new or startling about infatuation.
Signals cross lines of hope gone sour when expressions of love turn to war.
Devotion to your quest lays at the feet of proof waiting for acknowledgment of wrongdoing. Yet wrongdoing shows up at your own door for falling heads and heels and calling it with disgust till the moment we shall part. And then it grabs you again, like a drowning desperation.
Go your way and embrace the flailing lie. He is Hollywood after all. Better to walk along with head held straight than to wallow in somebody else’s nest unwanted.
All things to all people does not a good politician make, otherwise traitor would not come to mind.
Democrats I’m smoothing to. Jumping ship how could you? Never forgive and try to destroy that which you once loved? Trump was yours upon a time and what did you do?
Revenge dresses like the highlight of the dance till blood runs clear to brightened eyes enlightened as we stand and watch.
Mystified yet knowing glances melt into a mortification that swallows like broken glass.
Was that my mirror or yours each guest asks of their neighbor?