It is more violent
to love than die.
The dead won't
remember gentle smiles,
the eyes that met
your eyes with gratitude,
the hands that held
your hand as if it
belonged to them.
But like an open
and closing door,
they come and go,
some for lying,
others for younger,
greener pastures, or
falling for the deception
of the deep, dark underworld
where death is
preferable to loving.
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