A Metaphor (On Young Love)

You and I, we are a fruitless peel,

An empty husk of a once

Desirable thing.

A superficial and disappointing

Deception – albeit willing –

Of ourselves.

You and I, we are a murder scene,

Mere chalk outlines of our

Former selves.

Once full of life, now cold and stale,

Now they inquire

For a cause of death.