“I Love You”

It takes much cruelty to kill a man

Whilst happy and so whimsical

Which pain is more unbearable?

Emotional or physical?

Beaten to a bloody pulp

Is still a better deal

Than getting beaten in your soul

At least the body heals

Love songs may be love songs

But love cannot be love

To be in love or to be in lust

Or is it all of the above?

We say we love someone

Because that person gives

That person makes us happy

That person makes us live

Our idol isn’t that person

But the feelings that’re invoked

If our idols are our feelings

Love’s the punchline – we’re the joke

Our hearts are many-layered

A tangled stratification

And all along we’ve loved ourselves

Love: instant gratification

How dare we say I do!

And promise to love ourselves?

We stand there at God’s alter

And propagate for hell

Lucifer the Laugher

As we play into his hands

As we lie straight through our teeth

And slip on the betting bands

“I [bet] I’ll always love you”

You lie to the man with the Bible

(“Unless I don’t really love her later

“With divorce papers I’m not liable!”)

Love is not what’s broken

It’s not even in the equation

What we sell is mutilated

Like a butter knife with serration

We feel this lust and think it’s love

In a way it’s true, if you delve

For there may be love in the picture

But the love is for ourselves

How else can you say one day

“I love you with all my heart”

And the next day decide the opposite

Like erasing a work of art

How else can you murder a man?

How else can you disown him?

As he finds out those promises

Are like spit in the raging ocean

If after all it’s better

To be physically demolished

Death is best served bodily

Than to be symbolically abolished

It would be better if you hated him

And disdained him like a cist

Than to ignore his painful presence

Like he doesn’t even exist

If you’ve made him dead to you

Like the bitterest of daughters

You’re not guilty of ignorance

But of emotional man-slaughter

How dare you take a spark of love

And in your stupid foolish brain

Because you didn’t understand it

Just wash it down the drain?

How dare you murder in your mind

And sear the deepest wounds

And in your cowardly pitiful fear

You cannot even visit the tomb

I think the greatest cover-up

Is pretending to be fake

As souls pile up behind you

Decaying in your wake

If in a house surrounded by souls

You’d be Samson and break down the pillar

Is it just a sickness or are you angry?

You sweet little serial killer