Armor made of blackmail dipped in gold to fend off the truth,

Sword made of insults ready to pierce the dark pasts to shed light once more on those nasty scars,

War paint made of drowning tears and faded makeup,

The modern day art of war.

No one ever comes out the way they were when they roared their war cries,

All the bloodshed, all of the echoing lies,

One by one their walls and yours knocked down by each conversation,

It was enough to tear apart nations,

The dark roads you’ve lit, the raging waves you sustained,

All pouring back out from that unholy grail,

And the times you said you would never forget you had with her, are to no avail.

Beneath that armor are the hearts you both fell for,

When all you could see is each other, the days you were proud to be paired together,

War against love, a direct bloodline produced from one another.

You were okay with being blinded by her beauty,

Remember when you vowed to protect her as if it was your duty?

Now you stand at her doorway with bad blood rushing through your temple,

Your touch used to caress her to sleep, your voice used to be so gentle.

Fighting something that used to make you a better individual,

When you stood caught in her gaze telling her she was beautiful.

Within your own heartbeat, you could feel hers within it.

Her pulse, much softer and fragile,

Yours, a bit jumpy and impatient,

But in harmony, it was a thing of perfection.

You two stripped each other down and told the darkest secrets that lifted weights off of your shoulders,

You once promised you two would be there when the world began to grow older,

That you would find that smile and joy locked in that house of cards,

Too bad during the war that you broke them down and crushed them into tiny shards.

You lit the fire thinking it would never set ablaze anything.

But your words were the gasoline fueling the ritual to rid of the past,

You making sure that being a couple was never made to last,

I wonder how long this hate will endure,

How once when you were the sickness she was the cure,

Now it seems that she’s giving off toxins,

And you’re inhaling all of the fumes,

Promising her that when spring comes, you’ll be the only flower that won’t bloom.

From becoming the world you would’ve died to explore in for a day more,

Now nonexistent, history, just like those dreaded wars.

And all of this brewing hatred within, and what for?

For who was right, to document all of the lies, to hate each other when it was all over?

No one wonder history tends to repeat itself,

You were the bad aftertaste and I was the bitterness in the beginning.

Because if you are both willing to wage war on beautiful memories and experiences, then none of you are winning.

Just wait, you’ll see. The last thing your two eyes will see is each other’s hairs thinning.

Let her lick her wounds,

Don’t lift her spirits if all you’ll do is drop it like an anchor to see how far she’s drowned.

Don’t come searching for her, don’t come back around.

Leave her be.

Pay respects to the ones you’ve slain.

With those filthy lies and insults.

The art of war.

Never paints a picture without depicting the carcasses that washed up on its shores.

 

Published by Luke Lee