fragments (true love)

True love.. I can string all the cliché
and tie over my neck.
If you may wonder what is it?
I will say
it is a burden, a chain,
a lock to the prison door, where
the keys have yet to be made.
True love is true to itself,
blind, burdensome. A nagging beast
with a psychological misalignments
and psychiatric conditions.
It’s a bone eating cancer, a disease
that inflicts pain and kills.
Torture for its chosen victims.
It needs a host to live.
It only pretends to be a lover.
It is a malignant growth from within.
True love is only true to the Self.
But then…
when the bird flies away,
the flop of her wings
sends the invisible wave
that touches my face…
and disappears…