Stumbling back from the lethargic lies chasing her, encircling the depths of an abyss,
she shields her heart with a worn out hope and dull arrows of love;
Cupid must have accidently let them slip from his hand as he drove a stake into her soul,
stealing her breath with a simple smile while masking the devious intentions beneath the surface.
She was promised castles and sold her faith to evil in exchange for an empty life of woe;
the towers crumbled as she hopelessly and helplessly cried out in fear of losing sanity to the malicious fallacies remaining in the debri of such questionable tragedy,
providing that circumstances left space for blame and denial and filthy, possesive greed.
The gold in her palm rusted within days and the sustinance of forever become a distant dream,
losing sight of the wishes she once believed in and failing to notice the sunlight,
her world becomes more consumed with darkness and pain, her tears form oceans and
angels weep for her, such a precious and innocent one taken by the controlling grasp of pain.
Love is painful, as is the notion set on replay for the rest of her weary days.
