This love is a sickness, not many will know
Born in the heart as a seed to grow
Unnoticed by feelings like sorrow and hate
The love can begin to germinate
And soon, as the morning gives way to the night
By dawn, love has bloomed into flowers so bright
'Tis infatuation, obsession, if you like
Which also grows thorns that can easily spike
However, let grow, it shall finally bear fruit
And it shall be felt fierce as an akhlut
The most stubborn aselis or strongest gryphon
Could never un-reap the love that was sown
And yet - is there yet? - Oh, yes, for you see
The love isn't true, as we thought it to be
'Tis merely a potion that plants but its seal
A parasite, now, is the love that you feel
And so, what I tell you should now come to light
Stop calling it 'love' - for that love is your plight
It lives and thrives on making you adore
Then gorges itself till it's sucked out your core
A soulless magi is a thing to be wary
They know all the spells and are really quite scary
They, too, thought it love and it tore them apart
Until the beast ate up their soul and their heart
Let go of the love! Please, let it be known
That the potion you drank has a parasite sown
And it's already killing you from the inside
Stop it... before every last magi has died.
(entry two)
The Seed (entry)
The Seed (entry)
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