Eat me Drink Me

We lose a little part of ourselves every time we love
Bit by bit we dissolve.
How long till we’re nothing anymore?
Nothing left to give.
Does the pain make you steal?
No longer the victimized but the predator
It’s somehow justified.
Will we take pieces of others in hopes to rebuild our hearts?
The illusion of one picture are puzzle-pieces of one hundred unlike puzzles
Force them to fit till they break.
And what is a heart untouched, untampered with?
Complete?
I believe not.
They say babies need stimulation in order to grow and develop.
Other wise, they are dull, lifeless beings as adults.
Is love a choice between pain and numbness?
Between dying alone or living alone?
What is making love then?
Is it giving or taking or both?
Or feeling the same thing at the same moment?
Is it the illusion of togetherness?
Or instinct and pleasure?
Ironic how it can both kill and create.
Are we as people, created by these things?
Born from instinct, pleasure and lies?
Does this influence who we are?
Who we become, or will always be?
We give and take and give and take until there is no remainder of who we were originally,
Which in reality, may have been based on nothing.
This is only a game.