"Love's Wrath"

Love is the brightest pink of the purest pink rose
and the softest music played from afar.
Its taste is as sweet as chocolate-covered strawberries.
It smells of the air after a fresh rainstorm
and looks as picturesque as the crimson sunset.
Love makes me feel warm

Love is white, the color of purity and spirituality.
It sounds like doves' wings beating delicately in the breeze.
Love tastes like fresh-sqeezed wine,
and has the fragrance of fresh-washed sheets.
It appears in the form of the blue moon, a rare but beautiful sight,
Love makes me feel whole.

Love is purple like royalty, the color of power and control.
It sounds like a fist crushing your already breaking heart.
It has the taste of desire, of wanting what you cannot have.
Love tastes of plums, still sour, not yet ripe.
The sight of love is like a pasture, destroyed by a violent battle.
Love makes me feel helpless.

Love is the color of the blood that pours from your veins.
It comes in silence and leaves you with a cry of agony.
Its taste is that of bittersweet happiness;
Its aroma is like poisoned perfume, killing all who detect it.
You cannot see love, but you know when it's there,
because you can feel it when it's gone.
Love makes me feel desolate.

Love is as black as the Reaper's cloak swishing in the darkness.
It sounds like the hearse driving slowly in the street,
carrying away the dearly departed.
Love tastes like unsweetened coffee left out to spoil.
It smells of the blood that was lost, the debts repaid,
and looks like a black widow spider, too cruel to mourn her loss.
Love makes me feel dead.

Love is the slowest form of suicide.