~Love Is Only Real~

What is real about love except the pain it imprints on our heart? 
Like my own fingerprints, each heartbreak,
each man who let me fall away 
has left distinct and  smudged prints here
on my eyes so that I see the world
and any new love interest 
through those marred spots.
Like a ghost in my bed,Love lays next to me
and steals my sheets,
the only warmth I seem to be able to reach for.
His invisible arms hold me down
as he stirs pain in here and tears fall away from my eyes.
What is real about Love except that when it's gone I lay broken.
I am me on the outside(save for dark bags around my eyes
where Love stole my sleep and I'm thinner
because Love stole my appetite)
The ghost of "him" is everywhere I go.
It's in every book I try to read
and in the t.v. 
Love is only real when it's over.
It's only honest when it's a memory.

 Love is only Love when it's dead.

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