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That word.
Doors of deception, leading you into hallways of anguish,
darkening the light-bulb of our mind, so even though those halls
we walk, we still are blinded by pain, our bleeding heart is that
one thing that knows the depth of our misery, sick of the word that
intoxicates so many, for to us it just starts the Crucifixion of our hearts,
our self-delusion of this word leads to our self-deception bringing forth our self-destruction
and its easier than the push of a button, when agony of the mind overreaches and becomes
visible to the world outside, as if you twisted a knife to your skin a wound is sure to appear,
Yet sadly there is no guarantee it shall fully heal, so even if the pain is gone there's always a reminder,
Of your misery, of your sorrow, of that word, of that "Love". - Devonte Mack
