Only way to over-analyze it.

On the computer chair that has both our names engraved and carries us to the next place of conversation
we whisper our lies... 'what love is'.  
"Love is stability, happiness, well-being with another." 
What about the other things that make love?
Do we love our own catastrophe?  
Do you love your obsession?  
and are we in love with love - our the misguider?
Sketchy subject injects into the wooden house, at the back of your dads, all windows and  
en-suite and  
installed kitchen whilst we get high in the back-room.
I hide, underneath your bed, when  
I cannot stand your face.
I live, in a little, white dress, so I may pretend I'm still five and  
these problems are far away.
I wash-up to remind me of days  
I faltered at the sink rapped in your arms.
This isn't smut.
No, I stripped it bare, and  
found you there dripping in rain or shower water.
Feel, and touch,  
and move and hold me.
Make me feel before you make me crawl.  
Oh, how I love being dismissed.
What is love?
You, the guider from the nightmare yet the one who thought it up.
Who smirked and watched and turned his back as the other kids kicked me in the playground.
Who sucked the sanity out of my vicinity.
Who made me the pains rebound while his heart was still fishing in the plentiful sea. 
Who made me smile in our own land of darkness
who couldn't recreate a better thrill than one without consequences.
Who made me remember, gave me cause to stand, held  
me in his arms, as a friend to remind me what love was.
You in all your ebony beauty,  
ebony hair,  
ebony eyes,  
will never again trace the arch in my lips
and I will never lay upon the softest bed in existence
but I will tickle your feet, and I promise to make you laugh.
I promise to make you listen to new music, to make a go of being friends.
For what is love?
Love is a high-wire you just have endure,  
it's all in the balance.
People  
fall,  
and when falling it takes time to even consider  
climbing the ladder,  
trying again.
The last circus,
the final curtain call.
I'm not scared, I have a friend,
who does not look to me for money  
or control.
I have something.
I have a little fire-starter
to rekindle my heart
in a less that typical way.
My friends and my family don't deserve my resentment  
just because life's a bitch.
Love is  
beautiful...
life's one cruel mother...
Just a take another drag
and fall into the hazy smog.