Zizek Was Right

Love is a strip club that doesn't serve alcohol. Love is a brand new brassiere slashed at the nipples of the cups and slight slices through the straps. It is walking slowly silent down stairs in order to discover what cannot be unseen. It is an ignored 'no.' It is a forceful re-direct. It is anger and restraint and one-week lockdowns in mental health facilities. It is planting the seeds of destruction for no good reason. It is Munchausen syndrome. It is a DUI and a February beat-down.  It is bad taste.  It is foul-scented and rotten. It is eyes and ears and the core black empty.  It is cat claws and sand.  Vomit and piss hiding in an armoire.