If I wrote love poems

I let the thought of love leave my system a long time ago. Though it sweet tender voice called to fragile heart My mind made up its mind and said it was enough of the sorrow memories. But if I was to write about love. I write about how it shot me like I had taken a dose of Herion. Before I could make a decision of my own it started to kick it in. I was already addicted. But I see I would only say that if I wrote love poems. But I didn’t. Don’t! Won’t haven’t! But if I did. I say how that once addicted I could finally understand the metaphoric phrase Under my skin so realisticly. I could almost still feel the tingling feeling as it . . . . took over me. I could also say I could understand the phrase killing me softly cause I knew such a drug that pull me in so close Would be the reason for my overdose But that would only be if I wrote love poems And I haven’t! Wont! But if I did I say that it would have been the death of me. I couldn’t see the trouble it was causing me. Harming me! Killing me! But I could only hear that soft melody.