Mortal Sickness

What is love? 
What should it be?
Neal says it’s a feeling

Like pain, but not.
Or a sickness.
Or an illusion?
Maybe an illusion
Almost certainly an illusion
Or delusion.

The realm.
Is this sickness…
Is this why they do such horrible, horrible things?
Love?

Everything looks brighter
Warmer
Less dull.

As though I’m seeing the world again
Anew
I like it.
I like it this way.
It’s more like home.

And I want to trust him.
How could I not trust 
The one who could bewitch the world
Bewitch me
Neal doesn’t see it
How can I not trust him
He knows how dull and dark the world is 
And yet presents a gift like this?

Your highness is this what got you killed?
This…this softness in your gut
From someone you know
Could be about to hurt you?

Your highness, did you care?
When your killer strung you up
Garbed in that curséd collar
Did you care?

Or did you help them put it on?

I’m afraid.
Either I trust and I am right
And this feeling
This feeling takes root.
Grows from my gut to my heart
Tears me apart in its ferocity to climb from my mouth
And pour from my eyes.

Or I trust and I am wrong.
And I meet you, my liege
Wherever you’ve gone.

No trust and wrong, but the brightness fades
And the feeling meets my darker side
Unseelie love?
Obsession
Desire
But out of spite
Not bright and fun and done.

No trust and right
There is nowhere
No realm
No veil
That could hide him
From the justice I would wreak
Upon his form.
Even as tears fall from my eyes
And love splits my throat
I would destroy his being, his essence
Him.

And in so doing
Destroy myself.

So what is love
If not a cold iron blade
Aimed at the gut prepared to strike

I have the means to end this pain
But trust is in short supply
And even without trust?

The world is beautiful