Love is but a big fat worm.

I do not know where to look. Everywhere I turn my stubborn and stiff
neck all I can feel is the dulling of my senses as it burrows deep
inside my head. It sits between my ears and behind my eyes and at every
turn, it can only remind me. I have a physical need to remove it, if I
get some drill and scalpel to it, I can remove it. After it is gone I
will know no longer feel that numbing pain. The protracted will that it
imposes upon my heavy heart will cease, please let it cease. Have you
ever had the unpreventable urge to cause violence, to destroy something
beautiful? This is the vice that grips my soul in retribution of that
suffocation. To break, to cause pain to another, so that they can feel
and be subject to an ounce of the suffering that eats at you from
within, day by day. The fact that the melodrama is real is what scares
me the most.

The worm was strong in Thomas, it fed on him, eating him up, bit by
bit, little by little. Thomas was in love with Sarah, and as each day
they continued together, their love blossomed. Sarah was a lovely girl,
pretty eyes, sweet laugh, wonderful silky lips that formed a beautiful
smile, all which left little wonder to Thomas' love. The vivid beauty
of her mother nature sprung forth from her expressions, her movements,
her intonations like the piercing rays of bright sunshine that break
forth from the golden dawn. Yet, at every turn, the worm grew stronger,
larger and fatter - gorging itself on Thomas. The worm was fat and
exuded a greasy effluent from its vile pores. The worm was ugly, and
smelled of vomit. Thomas died and the worm lived.

Love is but a big fat worm.