Post love Psychosis

I loved you as one loves a fallen God,With blind faith and hands dirty with promises.Now I dig at the wounds on my chest, and wonder when love began to rot.How is it possible that the same fire, which warmed the nights, has learned to burn only flesh?It's not hatred born out of nowhere: it's love left without direction.I analyze you as a being that no longer bleeds, but pulsates, infects, resentful.Love does not die: but it deforms, becomes obsession, becomes delirium.And I, broken man, do not curse you for what you have been, but for my love, which has become horror without you.