Someone is always tripping over the warning signs and falling in it. In its genesis, when the moon is still dripping with honey, love is as sweet as the harmonies of spring. Then stipulations are pulled from the void like the sun is pulled from beneath the horizon. Light is shed like skin. Layers flake and fall to reveal the snake that we call MATE. Nights become so frigid that words freeze before they are ever breathed into the open. Actions develop into alliterations, a constant repetition of unrighteous rituals that render the significant, insignificant. Intimacies become limited by conditions as he, she, I stand resolute in our juxtapositions. Cords get crossed as we say what we do not mean and do not mean what we say. As the language of lovers turns metonymical Ass becomes the only way to sum up the fragmented parts of what was once whole.
At home we force peace, but he wants me to act naturally in public. I want him to keep his temper even in the face of these odds. Words that used to burn the telephone cord are swallowed by our deafening silence whenever we end up alone together both feeling the oxygen seep from our blood as we sit next to a moron. This relationship has become an original copy of my last, and his tear ducts have run out of the ink required to keep pressing the issue.
So we backtrack and replicate the initial measures that magnetized us to our mate. Then we backtrack and replicate the commencement of our misunderstandings. Then we backtrack and replicate the moment when we realized our repetition has not emphasized a single solitary point but instead created question marks. Dizzying is this back and forth movement. All to prove that it takes two to tangle, mangle, and massacre relationships?
And once the damage is done, love becomes a bitch so ugly you’d have to pay a pack of fleas to bite her. We start a war with peace. Our lips meet and agree that human beings will never be able to personify love. They know what our words have known for quite some time. We have become nothing more than two figures lacking a speech radiant enough to rally our hearts to again follow into the darkness we’ve made of us.