What is love

What is love?
A four-letter word?
Nah.
It’s a battlefield dressed in perfume 
a rose with thorns that whisper, “Bleed for me.”

What is love?
Is it a drug in disguise?
Because I’ve chased the high
and woke up cold in someone else’s goodbye.

Is it a house made of smoke?
A promise wrapped in rope?
Is it holding hands with hope
while doubt kisses your throat?

What is love?
I am weary.
Tired of holding my breath
for someone else’s clarity.
Of being a lighthouse
for ships that never dock 
just circle my light,
then crash into other rocks.

Is it lightning or a lie?
A phoenix or a firefly?
Does it burn to keep you warm
or just remind you you’re alive?

What is love?
Is it a mirror or a mask?
A question with no answer,
or a truth we’re scared to ask?

Because I’ve written poems in the skin of my chest,
carved names into the walls of my soul,
begged the silence for a “yes,”
and all I got was echoes.

What is love?
It’s the bruise beneath the blush.
It’s the rush of the fall
when you thought it was a touch.

It’s a ghost in your bed
and a voice in your head
saying:
“Maybe if you were enough,
they would’ve stayed.”

Rap, emo rap, kpop, krap