Leave it to the childish nuances of boys
Guised as men, they join the parade of followers
Raiders of lost souls, ostracized from the homes of broken hearts
Keen to the scent of vulnerability
Intrigued by the taste of loneliness
They are wolves, once dressed in sheep’s clothing,now frogs costumed as princes.

Soon to be received by the ignorant woes of women
They bear the weight of erratic fables on their immoral spines
Prying themselves into unyielding arms, disheartened, now weakened by fear and

There seems to be an abyss for the sorrows of hearts lost
Ripped from the souls of naive women
They leave the stain of blood on my hands
And though I feel a sense of remorse

I will still go on feasting