You wont find me where other hearts dwell, expecting the regurgitated plagiarism of unoriginal mechanical. The socially engineered definitions of love, soft tender, nothings, soap bubbles that capture light for a split second before they explode.
Mine will be subtle violence, creeping lava of a placid volcano, I boil in the belly of the mountain whilst they all obliviously engage in the mundane, until the time arrives and I explode with poetic dominance, and without rush, burn anything in my path. I’ll set villages alight and leave nothing breathing, but you’ll always know I was here, ash bound remnants of my volatility.
I’ll cleanse the soil and fertilise it anew for love of the organic kind to blossom once more.