Love is a wandering tomb,
A casement
Enclosing the decaying remains
Of a once beating heart.

Its very existence
Withers the heart,
Just as ruthlessly
That disease kills the body.

But alas,
If the rotten flesh takes the loveliest soul
To the cold of the grave,
The gangrened heart
Is spreading its poison to the body,
Unmerciful forced to walk,
Alive in its death.