When words cut deep into your heart when they are meant to soothe,
No balm or band aid can help heal.
When time convinces you that you are okay,
Scar tissue laughs at your plans to reverse time and taste what your soul once fed you.
Love as though you are possessed by the gods of concupiscence.
Love, hurt, hate and longing are the progeny of desire.
Desire to be wanted irrevocably whether we care to acknowledge it or not.
Frank Malaba™ © 2012