poison

to say that love is a rose is the most tired cliche. but true even so. not a thing to be grasped. behold the beauty, smell the fragrance, perhaps caress the velvet petals. but appreciate it for awhile, allow one moment for a gentle touch, then move on. seems to be the best way, if i only could. i always fail, though, and ruin what was best in my life, the one thing i was not ashamed of in me. take a fond memory, hurl it against the wall and watch the broken pieces scatter. feel sick in my heart to know i can never piece it back together, can't take back the anger, and can't be anything but what i am...poison to the soul.