Love
is a battlefield
we
are flying arrows
when we hit flesh
and one more soldier is down to the ground
heavily armed with dreadful hopes in hand
dead are they
then alive they become
as their blood are pouring down like milk
as they go down in hysterical laughter
they finally make it
we become merely objects
cutting sharp whoever is on site,  
we don’t know what the **** we are doing.
but who is shooting us at the enemy?
who has sharpened us till we bleed? thrown our strengths in the fire
drown them into the water
‘til our wooden bodies get tired
then break
as they get finished?
chanting at fate’s face
the only thing we have held until that very moment
that once and for all
cheaters conquer the world
good ones make it to the finish line.