Eternal Sundown VIII

 

Certain blends of love come toxic,
rooting seeds of your trust so deeply in the fields of its lies.
My heart has been nothing more than a battlefield for your pains as you sought peace,
a casket in which you bury your misfortunes,
a prison for all the demons that lurked in the shadows of your past.

Certain souls come toxic to the fragility of your persona,
taking advantage of what remains of kindness and a love you've primitively unwound.
Feeding off your subconscious that satisfies a Void of loneliness and self-pity in their lives.

Certain love shall come toxic,
looting your heart of all forms of self-love and taking it as their own.
Tossing hearts out the window after they've been drained of what makes of them.
The kind that shall slit your throat after its done with you,
making you yet another statistic on the walls of its darkened chambers.