Without love are we nothing but a human shell,
A carcass of deteriorating hearts left to rot,
Clearly then, if indeed, we are not at all well,
For without love, may we as well be buried in lot.
Let us be dried clean as a worm upon Summer's day,
Let us be torn apart like a growing tree in a storm,
For what tomorrow may bring hurts no worst today,
And what shredded heart can never be worn.
A love, be it a detonating bomb beneath our chests,
A cliff dive towards insanity until all is at rest.
And so are we then to live as the shell of a man.