Sometimes, when love grows,
it grows like the lines of a poem which once marked
tombstones around your heart.
It sticks like a fresh bruise under your feet,
and makes you want to run,
behind butterflies and stars.
Sometimes love dies,
Fading away faster than the colours of the polaroid
That made love grow in the first place.
Sometimes, love renders lovers faceless.
Sometimes, when love dies,
It ends the lies,
Just so you can live a little.
