I keep giving of love and remain alone;
Either awake at night or with fears.
I learnt much of pain; it comes now by rote
And has quite lost all its share of tears.

The love I give is all consuming.
It comes from within a unique need.
If I am willing to be consumed myself,
How in hell does it classify as greed?

The words I write now have been written.
The pain I am in has been felt.
It feels like my men are on strange repeat.
The cards each deals have been dealt.

The love I have just needs to be seen;
But those I love choose others over me;
And I can’t keep giving up myself –
I must have an end to hope’s tragedy.

I think of love as forever and it hurts.
Each time it brings with it the freshest pain.
As each time my gifts and heart shatter,
I lie to myself and say never ever again.