It infiltrates,
Insidious;
It feigns at love,
Betrays our trust,
In what we've known,
Since we were born.
The truth we've found in all we see,
Points to design.
Still our chests swell.
We'll never find,
True answers from a wishing well.

So feed us all,
Another lie,
To still our thoughts,
Appease our pride,
So we won't have to change the way we see,
We live,
We love,
We die.

Our l___ precedes,
Our blasphemy.
Our logic reads,
Like notes from tainted autopsy.

Our souls they speak of something more,
But we can't look beyond ourselves.
We implore empty skies because,
Our hearts hold room for no one else.

We extend our claws
to grasp at shadows of the ideals we have
lost casualties of a subtle dagger
buried to the hilt in our hearts, blood on our hands

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