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the best part of me is dead the only thing is left is the monster in the heart of me, nothing left to give bu only the hate within to bad only one see the man i have become, can you still take me by the hand and lead me in to your temptation bit will i go for true love is put on ice to keep the beauty alive flesh so cold so temptated to hold you close just to keep you warm wipe away the dirt in your eyes so you dont cry as the tears turn to lightly fallin snow from those cold piercing eyes. slient words spoken with no words to be said left in awe with no emotions not even s sigh, true love is put on ice to presereve the beauty within To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable."
