The shallow army of demons that calls itself Love
Marches as one
Seeking to destroy the innocence
Of the blind and the pure.
The slithering serpent of lust
Watches with eyes aglow
On its prey
And lures it in with the beauty of its cruelty.
The blood of the weak and dependent
Flows through the cracks in the floor
As the hearts of the strong are crushed
By the silence of their lovers.
The wolve's howls are drowned out
By the cries of the broken hearts
And the memories
Of their desires.
But as in all wars
Life goes on
To mend one's own heart
So it can be destoryed once again.