I Do Not Believe In Love

soft arms and fresh
flesh wrap around the narrow connector of
head to chest
and force the life out –
bronchial tubes scream in agony –

live in boxes underneath
the stairs..

prayers for the girl
in the closet while
love pounds on the door

blood red roses posing
as daggers
as adoration drags their
thorns across
her face

romance and
passion lace  the glass
with arsenic

her lips are given the last taste of
love as love takes her
last breath.