lust is just love that dies
we tend to want things that flood our eyes
our hurt is just a price we pay
looking at the moon and wishing for day
in an abyss of sweet nothings we fall deep
sacrificing oxygen and sleep
for a mere glimpse of what love could be

things aren't so tender when they end
just bitter unseasoned and bland
a heap of limbs at war with each other
lost souls looking to discover
searching for love and a source of heat
the vicious cycle of hatred and deceit
turmoil boils and wrath will grow
but the fire extinguished long ago

when the mind realizes it's been famished
not a soul in the world cared to scan it
of feelings or memories or wants
or opinions or strengths or thoughts

the enemy, loneliness, born
from lack of someone to adorn
a naive love disguised as scorn
from its battered scalp grow horns

an angel in disguise it became
call it cold.. frigid.. inane..

fallen angel beseech the stars above
for the slightest symbol of love
and to no avail, no answer
her kisses could create no dammer

she dared not bind to another
for the sake of being smothered
with false ardor and affection
her ice as her protection
to shield her ***** from the swelter
that asked of no one near to help her

the delusive words of many have tried
the only thing saving her was her spirit that died
this barrier tall, affirmative with action
hurt anyone near it with ample satisfaction