Funny that he goes by love, because he has none
His long hair is a whip I pull
His face changes as I slowly slip away
His mind freaks as I tell his story.
He is narcissist himself
Running through the woods in bare feet
Catching anything that comes his way
But not me
I am faster
Stronger, than he could ever imagine
When you see love, you might be caught.
Not me, learning my consequence
When the claws come out to catch whatever is in the way
I will move and dodge, learning not to be caught from his viscous hands.
Can this be true? The hands that come out to grab you
I know it is
Test your luck if you will
For his hands will grip you and use you for his might
Can love simply be taught?
No, not from a standpoint of time
Let love catch you, for I will not be caught.