love is alive and well
but it plays dead for me
what a cruel rosebush to sell
when an end to the tunnel i can’t see

how could this be? i hear you cry
and let me answer that for you.
love doesn’t care whether you cheat or lie,
it cares if your mirror doesn’t shatter into

a million pieces. a shattered icon of
human despair, and society as a whole
delicate, fragile even. but it cuts you off
like a blade of his brilliant earthy iris lulls