heathen

Love. 
The word is nothing but poison. 
You can fall in love, be in love, stay in love, drown in love. Lose love. 
Too many ways to have it. 
Too many ways to experience something is a bad thing. 
It promotes hope when all there is in the end is an overdose of despair. 
Love is nothing but inevitable pain wrapped in nice shiny paper, tied in a bow of disgrace. 
Love is a lie. 
And I am all too happy to be the best liar of them all. 
I will tell you I love you just like she told me. 
I make you believe me because you want too. Because I’m sexy, because I’m the famous Angel of Rock, because I have kind eyes and an innocent smile. 
Then as soon as I feel you fall 
I will break your heart into pieces. 
Why? 
Because that is how I was taught to love. 
To make you sick with it. 
To promote the dream only to rip it away just as quickly. 
Yes, I am capable of love. The kind of love I was raised on.
The only problem is; my love is not the kind any girl should want.
Especially not this girl. 
Not a girl like Shayla.
My kind of love will kill her. 
And her love, her love will take me right down with her.