nothing of significance

[shdw_of_reason]

Love is cold. Hollow. Presenting a facade of warmth and happiness, indeed making us believe so. And when we're down and most in need of its reassuring touch it rears its head and extends viperine fangs to poison us with doubt and insecurity, causing us to question lovers and friends and perhaps more devestatingly, ourselves. Love is a pit viper trying to charm us with guile and cunning, hallucinogenic colors glinting from dark scales and insidious words from forked tongue into striking range. Its eyes hold promise and mystery, its tail dances a hypnotic pattern in the desert sand. We forget thirst, hunger, pain, sorrow, and are most willing to forsake much of what is dear to us in order to bask in its brief sunspot glow. More important is love's ability, even when we're drowning outselves in hopeless despair, to cause us guilt over doubting its purity and sincerity. If there were any other entity to incur these things in humanity it would be renounced as a work of satan (he gets such a bad rap) and stoned or hung or shot, or whatever it is the religious do to things today. But not love. Oh no. Love is the purest, the most holy. We should all love eachother and be blind to its effects. We aren't meant to see how it tears everything it touches assunder.

"Take this heartache of obsidian darkness and fold my darkness inside your yellow light. I've been scattered, I've been shattered. I've been knocked out of the race but I'll get better."