In Love

I suffer in love.

For love is

the grinding

of swollen joints;

of brittle and osteoporotic bones.

It is

the tightening and sharp pain

of a muscle, of one single muscle,

lax and atrophied from disuse.

It is

the struggle

of an ego

clotted with phlegm and coughing to breathe.

It is

the creaking

of a body and of a mind


into an unyielding mass

by its own dogmatic slumber.

I suffer in love.

I suffer to awaken to life from death.

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