Love, You Ask?

So it is love that you ask for.

Your love is a crack in my chest, jagged and angry, where the jet-black cockroaches roost. Their eggs are lain out of sight in the deep crevasse.

So it is love that you ask for.

Your love is the reality of imperfection, the loss of sanity, the revocation of rationale.

So it is love that you ask for.

Your love is a sordid shelter, shot and leaky, and the rain drips from the ceiling into makeshift buckets. They overflow with every drip.

So it is love that you ask for.

Your love brings tears to the weary, joy to the believer, and pain to the deceived. It is a force that tears through the emotions like a wolf to a lamb.

So it is love that you ask for.

Your love's roaches roam in the dusk. They consume without concern, they breed incessantly, they invade the moment. I feel hundreds of prickly legs all upon my spine, and their angry nest sits inside my heart.

I must apply the pesticide before the parasites overwhelm.