The arrow pierces my heart in abhorrent glow.
It stings against my flesh and cuts me raw.
The arrow of love is one that does me no justice;
It flies hand in hand with that of heartbreak
from which pain pours from me like a sapped tree.
I am but an immobile lump of little intellect
and I have all to blame in that arrow t
hat pierced me with such malicious intent
and softened my heart, now beating much in my chest.
The arrow in its self appears of fluff and excellence;
it is the prize above all men,
but at second snap of bow the hand strikes,
coarse against my being.
That second arrow beats me black and blue
till I can carry on no more
and then it presents the audacity to say "but I love you."
And with that I break
I go flying mad by all accounts.
My heart now drips down my open chest
and tears down my face,
but with eyes of love beading down my soul
the words echo out my own lips.
I say it back, that "I love you"
and I move to gentle, callous embrace
of those love and heartbreak
who stitch me up with arrow and thread
and wrap me secure.
- I've Never Been One For Love