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loves defeat
Love is a tricky thing, isn’t it?
It picks only the most handsome souls, it leaves anyone,
it does not know.
It feels not warmth from the warmth right yonder.
There’s always plenty of fish in the sea.
But love never, ever see’s me.
Life is a sorry excuse for people of no use.
I once thought that warmth goes around but I was a
wrong fool, looking like a silly clown.
Love preys on the weak and leaves me lonesome
through the week.
Even as summer’s brightest ray’s peak.
A lot of sad souls are at a winter’s defeat.