Love,
First began with the touch,
Of a million needles ripping,
Through the veins that give you-
Life.
Life,
Where do I start?
How do I end?
Those who find the answer,
Only know,
Love is the epidemy of life.
For those who are lucky,
End up alone-
Dying.
Dying,
Can one not see?
What you give,
Is not what you get,
But rather an illusion,
That nothing will ever be the same.
As the first one and only-
Love.
Gone.