What we call love

What we call love
Is an angry, selfish thing
Drowned in alcohol and
Bloodshot eyes
And clumsy, callous hands
With dirty fingernails
That want to tear open
Something sweet, smooth, and soft
And a mouth, drooling
Of stinking breath

What we call love
Hates itself because of you
Because of mirrors
And toilet paper
And bathroom secrets
Which get flushed
Or wrapped and tossed away
Behind a closed door

What we call love
Doesn’t smell like television or magazines
Though something of them
Is sprayed and scrawled onto us
Like some vulgar graffiti
We think makes us look pretty

What we call love
Commits a little bit of suicide
Everyday afraid of dying
Without a piece of you

What we call love
Is afraid of being alone

e.12.15.2016