Love

Love, my mother used to tell me stories about this
Spiteful feeling before bedtime
the first women I loved
Stabbed a rusty knife in my back
While my father entangled me in a twisted web of lies
Woven from the sticky silk of my misguided trust

"Love" is just another tool in the blackened
hands of the ones that love us
Some think of love as the fuel
That keeps there blood pumping and there souls alive
But if there was ever any love left in me my life
Burned it out long ago into ashes of hate and cynicism

I can no longer live like this
but I would rather burn alive
Then see them claim my life as a trophy
I WILL see there faces as there lives turn to ashes before them
And there love will be cast into the black oblivion
They will be left as I have
A tainted smile cuts its way through the cold of my face
I now lay on cold concrete but my thoughts for tomorrow warm my blood
as I weave a plan of twisted webs and knives
I will use there strength against them
There twisted, festuring
"Love"