My past called for a change in decor,
Zebra stripes of mistakes and heartache,
A change was in order.
Frequently, flickering flames left their mark on me.
I thought it was love.
As if I knew.
Merely marking their territory,
Me not a living, breathing, feeling human being,
But a plaything.
Cherished for sweet fleeting moments
Then, like Christmas morning gift wrap,
Tossed aside.
Who is the culprit, cunning, unseen?
The blame rests on my shoulders,
The sweet burden of chasing skirts
Can leave you exhausted, gasping for air,
Running in circles, just wanting to settle down.
No rest for the weary, as I've fallen victim to a few charmers myself.
Maybe they're vindictive on the invincible ,
With motives invisible, wanting to watch them crash.
Crush, crushing, crushed,
Teenage tales of hot headed stupidity.
Writing my story as we speak, a plot twist is imperative.
This author wields authority over his own fate.
More wisdom gained and contained within than Aesop's fables,
Turn the cover.
As far as love goes, I'm still in the dark.
Never seen it face to face,
Yet I've looked long enough.
The only thing I've learned about love is where NOT to search.
Remember this.
Females are beautiful,
and can be trusted with nearly anything,
With the only exception being
The open heart of a man.