I no longer believe in love.


Love once touched my soul with her blooming palms, but now not even Persephone could warm this Hades heart.


Perhaps love is not stitched into the lining of your lips but rather blooms from the succulents that grow from my tears.


Perhaps love is not L-O-V-E perhaps it is M-E. Perhaps love is not Y-O-U.


We packaged our love in tiny boxes, wrapped them in newspaper and tied bows across them.


We traded our love like gifts, forever adding to the other person, never taking away.


We spelled love, G-I-V-E and the gifts kept on coming, we began saving the wrapping paper.


~Original poem by Demi Whitnell

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