It’s the way you ask

“Do I smell nice?”

It’s the way you say

“How’s your day?”

That makes me want to breathe in the morning
and live out everyday

The truth is hate is not the death of love
Instead it burns love's heart from pink to red
And love becomes a savage primal thing
        Unholy                                             ­     
           Animal                            
                       Alive                  
                             Undead
             The gentle warmth of love becomes a fire        
That turns it to a monster in the light
And burns the tender feathers from its wings
Which cast their demon shadow
On the night