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 wont have  to chance the way we see, we live, we love, we die,    our lust precedes  our blasphemy,  our logic reads  like notes from tainted autopsy.    our souls they speak of something more,  but we cant look beyond ourselves.  we implore empty skies because  our heats hold room for no one else,    we extend our  claws to grasp at shadows of the  ideals we have,  lost causalities of a subtle dagger,  buried to the  hilt in our hearts, blood on our hands.