If there is only ever good things spoken in love
Then it would surely be an artifice
For they say a rose by any other name is just as sweet
But is it truly
Can one have admitted to owning love when not been bitten
Poisoned and soiled by the choking sweetness
Like the sharp edge reflex dripping down the back of throat
Stilling the beat of the heart
With its parasitic rhythm

No love isn't always sweet
But bitter, hot, and sour
Love is beyond the intention of desire and the painted smiles on chocolate faces
The glass eyed terror textured with the limitation of another cheap year
Disgraced by the swelling tenor of requested feeling
It is ***** and it disgraces all the noble intentions from the romantic heart
Boiling the fever and yearning the selfish sin
But that passion and fury is only the start