(Untitled)

I've about given up on love
because love forgot a lot about me
It forgot my name, address, blood type,
birth places, raising places,
milestones achieved, and angry stones thrown at me,
times I laid down and died, times I made out like a lion when I could have cried
places forgotten, because they were just that rotten,
though I still recall when I took from there.

Do not go silently in to that thought of me as a weakling cowardly cynic.
Love may have forgotten, but that's why I've gotta go about making it remember.
Remember that I say what I mean, and to bet your whole being that I mean what
I say, however little it might be.
Remember that even fertilizer happens for a reason.
Remember that I do not have to "behave" as you see fit,
when it ain't fit for me to behave.
Remember when I believed in you when better sense bellowed otherwise.

Most importantly, remember this . . .
When you looked at me through other people's eyes and only saw what was broken
like an imbecile, you turned a blind eye to what really matters.
The mere facade is to mere love
what your eternal torch-soul is to passion.
Expression of the former is "fine" but will never be enough without the latter.

And speaking of ladders, the meeting of these two can be like a rope ladder in a
windstorm.
You better hold on because of dear life so you don't get blown away,
particularly if you've got all of one but not the other
since in love without passion or passion without love
your leftover shell will either be hollow or charcoal.
A hollow shell is Negativity's Disneyland.
Charcoal crumbles and makes a mess
no one wants to clean up afterward.