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Death of Love
In and out wonders sense,
The chaos sets us free
Back and forth wondered hence,
Our lust, it seems, will not leave.
Succumbing to our passionate throes,
Chained down, weary, weak...
Souls colored black, a bloodied rose,
Outwards our tears leak.
Against all will we lay back,
The parchment, so pale, so pure
With this quill, with this ink so black,
We write our wills, for what we were.
Leaving our flesh under cold earth,
Haunt our steps, rattle the bones
Full of malice, brimmed with mirth,
Our lips meet beneath the stones.
