It starts from a place of deep and it creeps into words
Unless Malice thought of jealous hearts gives it birth
So I write the wrongs of my thoughts
Bearing the very fabric of my being
So life is born from the love or venom it possessives
So leave the intense venom in thine low
Because it creep up to bite the ones we love.
Tell tales of intense passion.
Instead Words
Words are just that they live on a page
but my love has no boundary no line no periods
forever made endless, unless venom ends it.
So save your venom for those of whom you want to partake
because love is deem fit until one makes it lifeless.
P.S. make love not break it.
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