And what is love? It is a doll dressed up
For
idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle;
A
thing of soft misnomers...
—
John
Keats
Twisted in a meat-grinder
or crushed under a steamroller
even love looks good.
Attachment grows
a tumour while
connexion desiccates
a cigarette forgot in an ashtray.
Life is a packet.
Keep lighting them ‘till they kill you
or the last one’s burned away.
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