of love or of tragedy? - a poem by alexis

The god of love thinks of how he hates the word.

of love or of tragedy?

another drop of ichor
falls to the marble floor
and they take no notice.

then another falls and
another falls and another
falls and suddenly the floor
is covered in the golden blood
which runs through the veins
of a god.

he thinks of how he
hates the word.

one of them starts to notice
him as he collapses to the marble.
one of them starts to yell
for psyche, for apollo.

his wings are dripping ichor
onto the marble floor
of the halls of olympus.
the white feathers - coated
in his golden blood - are
falling from his back.

and all he can think about
is how none of this would've
happened if he had never
been named the
god of love.

he thinks again
of how much he
hates the word.

cupid, god of love.
the words force
a harsh laugh
from his lips.
more like cupid,
god of tragedy.

Author's Note

please do not comment on my use of only lowercase, for it is merely my style of writing poems.