The heart will

Bend and shape

To what your

Will may take.

For those to

Be sold on

Life's aching luxury,

They will forget

The many casualties.

For the broken

Who have swallowed

Their minds:

They have morphed

Into a reflection unknown.

It has become

A madness that

Will never be shown.

A madness few

Will ever overthrow.

They will withdraw,

They will resent,

And they will lose.

To play the game,

Many forget the rules.

They will deem them

Hidden to validate

Their sickness -

All truths will be twisted.

They will abandon

The very thought

For an ephemeral appease.

It is not based

On written words.

For this to

Intoxicate the mind,

One will foresee a

Bitterly flawed notion:

That thorns on

Vines will

Only cause blood

To be drawn

When spoken.

The disease will never

Cease to exist,

For the host

Will perennially

Let it fester

And feed

For selfishness.

Never will their

Minds endeavor

The solace

Their heart

Impulsively severs.

My darling,

Please ponder:

Is the intoxication

Worth invitation?