There is no love- there never was and there never will,
Only the ever growing hunger for flesh and blood subsist.
Yet that carnal famine had been a one- sided blindness
Misplaced on things one couldn't resist.
Oblivious as you are, you had been a stabbing knife
Razing a feeble, almost dying decency,
Turning it into a wild and malevolent outrage-
Adoration transformed into a ghastly villainy.
Isn't it enough to be deprived of such contentment?
Why did one bring oneself to the ground?
How will one look at oneself again?
Will exaltation be ever found?
I know not if one is tender or one is tough,
But this I say to myself- it is enough!
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