The Pain’s Gift.

It consumes me alive.

The pain I held and hold for my lost feelings

made my heart like a stone. 

It rips off my heart apart infinitely. 

Butterflies planned to depart, 

useless the love combins with innocence 

awakening my fake anxiety, 

harshest parts of love, 

the willpower to worship whilst the hardship, 

a steadiness to sacrifice 

and an energy to play it low-key and nice.

Dear, whom you resort to entice, 

You’d never get the whole good cake 

but you’ll get a rotten slice. 

Love is neither a phase nor a thing to chase 

but a gift to replace the pain.