Just another four letter word,
It's the sort of love that tries not to love,
Not to care
Not to try at all
But eventually, one bird will.
It's the sort of love that tries not to want
But cries in the night,
Shameful of what's happened.
It's the sort of love that's intoxicated by its' own being
It tries not to cry
It tries not to beg
But breaks down regardless.
It's the sort of love that begs for forgiveness,
But the other bird will walk away
Contemplating and scared.
It leaves the other bird kneeling on the floor
With their tear-streaked face
Their heart spilled on the floor.