Realization, apprehension, discernment,
between what is real and what is sophistical,
what is adoration and what is hostility.

They all try, futilely, to sympathize,
to make my anguish less.
They insist that they tried to help me,
and maybe they did.
But I still learned the hard way;
love hurts.

Struggle, strife, exertion,
all over self-inflicted pain,
just to understand what I’ve become.

My time in the light has come to pass,
and now the darkness ensues.
Who I am now,
a destroyed, beaten soul,
just goes to show;
love hurts.