the depths of it..
the noose from it..
the truce from it..
It's infinity.
It's eternity.
the epilogue of it..
the lashes from it..
the gashes from it..
It's wreckage.
It's voyage.
the nexus of it..
the havocs from it..
the lilacs from it..
It's unrealism.
It's animalism.
the tryst with it..
the gist of it..
the glitches from it..
the stitches from it..
It's urges
it's bridges
the strokes of it
the hoax of it
the friction in it
the exultation in it
It's torrents.
it's currents.
It,
pains you.
drains you.
quakes you.weakens you.
agonizes you.
Truly,love isn't for the faint hearted.
gifted only to the ones,who dare to be tormented.
perspires you wet in day light and pitch-black..
for it is a sweet painful aphrodisiac..
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