There is no famous tale,
no song that has been sung.
Every poem now has failed,
to really show the truth of love.
Love is a beautiful lie,
sometimes an ugly truth.
Love is why some people die,
but mostly because of youth.
Young hearts that fall in,
struggle more to escape it's net.
They exclaim proudly, "I've fallen",
unaware of what runs from breath.
Love is first my remedy,
yet simultaneously my pain.
It will never heal the memories,
but it's easier when it rains.
Love is a struggle, a conflict,
an internal war we forever fight.
You could be considered the most honest,
yet things you say are perceived as lies.
It breaks you down to your very core,
pieces of your heart are scattered.
Thus the memory of your pain is stored,
that moment that your heart was shattered.