In a room filled with despair, hurt and the ever present doubt/
Tucked away deep inside but as overwhelming as a summers drought/
It sits dry for days at a time but is always present/
You swear it off more times than not because it’s pain is unbearable/
But when just a drop of it hits your soul it floods like something biblical/
But in that momemt you refuse a boat because you want it to wash over you like something spiritual.
You forget about your promise that you would never be tricked again/
But who are to deny what has and will always be within.
We are products of it existence without it there would be not one of us/
At times we get confused with that other emotion that thing called lust.
It’s love, the essense of mankind with no equal to compare/
So when doubt, hurt,and despair is present love was already there.