The God of Love and His Arsenal of Military-Grade Weapons

What a sweet and lucky little agenda has Cupid,
Flying around and firing his cute harmless arrows at people.
What a splendid little thing is falling in love.
Your eyes lock...by the fourth date your lips lock,
If you re lucky your bodies lock.
For the rest of us, meanwhile, Cupid s locked and loaded.
We, the jaded, cynical rejected, do not get the cute harmless arrows when Cupid comes across us.
We get the AK-47, the bazooka, the flame thrower.
We get barraged with bullets, and shot down in our affection.
Because our love, unfailingly, is a one-way street. A track record with a hundred percent failure rate. Gorgeous guys that are just friends, and others who just plain hate us. You should see our hardened eyes that only shoot lasers when they lock with another s.
Our mouths turned down from so much never smiling, always saying Too bad. .
Our bodies that feature countless battle scars resulting in bulletproof skin. Or not quite bulletproof.
Still hurts like hell, but at least we saw it coming. At least we know what to expect. We always know. The recovery time gets shorter and shorter.
Bullets, fire, slugs, grenades...we have survived them all.
Come on, Cupid, hit me again. I can take it.