Love.

A blip on the monitor of involuntary human response. A hiccup of emotion when compared with envy, hatred, lust.

And just who was this St. Valentine? A bishop. Roman. Third century. Got his head sliced off–ouch!–for marrying lovers against his emperor’s decree. You see, Claudius II believed that men made better warriors unmarried.

Power comes with the absence of love. Love… drains us of our strength. We never learn, do we?

Does love really exist in the hedonistic world of ours? Or is it only our selfish needs, our own desires that fuel the potion? Does she love me, love me not? What does it really matter? What hellish alchemy if it does.

Like some sweet on the track, roll steels wheels right over her precious body. She’s just a girl. The apple of your pie in the sky. Valentine her good goodbye, my friend. Pass your days in one-night stands. Tear apart the threads, the web of love’s truth… where strings of beauties wrap your heartstrings around your neck.

Love exists, rages within. A silent scream of endless pain. A hellish alchemy, indeed. Without equal. Not death, not hell itself, but a precious, precious flower… long withered… and gone.

And you say that love conquers all. Well not for you, St. Valentine. Not for me. Not for any of the… heartbroken.

Just say no to love. A carnival kewpie and an electric blanket will give you more satisfaction. Don’t ever give them your heart.

Forever Knight (2.23: “Be My Valentine”)
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Mostly, I write stuff. And, like the Egyptians and the Internet, I put cat pictures on my walls. Also, I can read your Tarot.