They Call It Love
They call it love
and I call it pain.
It’s fragile and weak
and it breaks you like glass.
From the heart to the brain
and everything above,
it shatters everything,
and your own happiness you have to feign.
Tears leak and leak
and the mind gets weak and weak.
It’s a constant battle
between trusting or not trusting,
between opening up or simply lying,
between crying or pretending
that everything is perfect,
and knowing
that love is not just a defect
of the heart and soul
and of the withered
remains of the mind’s control.
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