The Bad Love
The bad love.
Dragging luggage you unpack without permission in spaces that need air.
Bad love.
Allowing flowers to grow and then thrusting emotional thorns at one another. Wearing an armour of defence to bed every night, shedding debris of submissive hostility on the sheets.
Bad love.
An accumulation of silent swallowed words that have otherwise lured themselves dirty on the curtains.
Bad love.
Doing a spring clean every so often and breathing life into this love, whilst keeping those bullets of resentment tightly loaded into our revolvers, just in case.
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