First Come, First Serve

Wrote this recently for the prompt “first love.”

First come, first serve; first love’s reserved
for one whose soul could ne’er deserve
one ration, one notion, not one confession
of passion, devotion, undone obsession.

Too eager to part with your finest parts,
mold them into art for vacuous hearts.
Giving up miles, while they count up inches;
shrivelling smiles amount from love’s lynches.

Then onto the next and the next and the next…
And each lover hexed! Ever vexed and perplexed
by phantasms spun
rewritten reruns
proclaiming these ones
of being “the One”

So, you give and keep giving
each morsel you own
so you don’t go on living
once more all alone.
But blow after blow
it’s wearing you down
with no way to know
how “I love you” sounds
pieces of pieces
you’ve given away
‘til what’s left
ceases
to hide
its decay
so only
a shell
remains
in your
place
so no
One
can
tell
who
once
wore
your
face