It chips and cracks, and thrives in decay
And never truly breaks or fades away.
Trapped in a deal
- one you regret -
Like the ring stuck on some people's second ol' finger.

Whatever tis' is,
Most people in the right mind hate;
Despise, even;
Twisting and turning as if the feeling were a hangman's noose.

Finding no solution,
Long since done whirling about,
They who can cope just pretend.

Shiny at first,
But dulling with age,
Wasted times coming to an end.

All is well and all is good for they who stay far, far away
For they know that
What is called love
Is really a type of
BLACK NAIL POLISH.

(Potent and sometimes deadly)