The poison may not be the one you’re drinking, but one that lurks beneath the skin.
Originally posted on Campus Diaries.
The wine in itself is not the worst of things,
If it wasn’t for the taboo that rings
In the minds of mortals with uncertain fears.
It’s the minds of mortals that wrongly steers.
The wine itself would have been unbrewed,
And the heart left to chase something else that wooed
It to its own poison. No matter what it is,
The heart desires all misery and bliss.