My love for you is conflicted,
not in its intensity
or in its surety,
but in what it would do to me.
For I have come undone
in ways far more than one.
It seems that only my love
or I will survive,
in this tussle to a certain demise.

I never thought loving would be easy,
but who would’ve thought that you’d be so lovely.
There is latent fear and anger some,
not just at you, but others fromme.

There are words, and then there are actions,
but sometimes even the most selfless,
cannot survive large enough infractions.
Either I end it or it ends me,
my love for you isn’t benign,
dont know if I’ll ever be free.

What doesn’t make sense,
(and maybe it doesn’t have to)
Is how two people who,
love each other so,
find it so hard to be together more.
Is it me or is it you,
who’s afraid of truly meeting you.