Heartbreak is inevitable.
It seems to be more rife than true devotion.
I’m not sure it even exists.
Why should it?
Majority of those who encounter the theory
don’t handle it very well,
overwhelmed with its regulations
and mandatory sacrifices.
It’s more of a burden
than the gift its portrayed as,
a leach constantly feeding,
which some do enjoy yanking on.
Yet, so many are desperate for
the coveted illusion,
promises of happiness and fulfillment.
No one gives a moment thought what
might really happen,
believing their lovely daydreams of
what could be,
stewing courage and strength to
succeed in their pursuit.
Sometimes people enter holy monogamy for
the sake of devotion’s reputation,
convinced the other person involved
acts as an interchangeable component.
Once this is completed,
they bore of it,
concluding it as a
small token of history.
They tried so hard to fill the missing
middle piece of their puzzle,
discarding themselves from another,
lost because they don’t have the will to
fit anywhere else.
Their partner followed a similiar groping notion,
ignoring the same mirrors,
both gaining a new perspective on devotion,
ultimately poisoning the concept for everyone.
Love has evolved into a
sort of artificial intelligence,
the creator of “Project : Devotion”,
playing us all.
There are no limits.
No safe words.
The more attractive,
more power to spend.
Lust wears devotion like a sock puppet.
It’s all maddening:
They’re turning me into a cynical loser,
covered in a fresh batter of obsession.
I feel heartbroken most of the day,
pining after a blurry image.
My natural instincts need fine-tuning,
along with my personality,
my stress of both plague
my actions and thoughts,
as much as I breathe.
Quite a recipe for low self-esteem.
Maybe that’s the real issue.
It has to be me.
The world is the world and
I am I.
The world is supposedly barbarous and developing.
So should I.