With the complexity of pleasure,
comes the confusion of realisation.
We open our doors to a better life,
and shut our eyes to the bitter truth.
Avoiding spite is impossible,
as the naive disregard the cold,
and the cold plotting against the naive,
neither right, neither content.
Crying blood into the viles of the oblivious,
tearing hearts away from the life of happiness.
Never to find a tear of joy,
never to find that sweet moments death.