Love is Always a Toss Up

If I was to believe,

this simple heart couldn't take the blame,

running cross-hairs over his surfaces;

you've got no one to stand for you.

this measly meadow of broken hearts

leads us to battle for the new day to rest,

let it sleep for hours here

until our bodies lay broken and dead.

we are one in this vision-less circle of hate,

running fingers over the corpses of truth,

while the cobwebs of life do form,

but we'll never know that love that they do.