Ode to love

I was going through some of my old writing and came across this jolly little poem that I remeber writing a few years ago whilst sat in wandsworth park in the brilliant sunshine supposedly quite happy with life.

Colour me black, not yellow, or red.
Inside I'm burnt, my soul is dead.

Dismiss my smile, for it's full of deciet,
Rattling pathetically, my heart beats it's last beat.

I see before me in rows of hundreds,
Spirits deceased, the living out-numbered.

The want of lust is a given pain,
endured through a life lived in vain.

To stop wanting is torture, so i succumbed,
Now bleeding and broken, my body is numbed.

Forget that laugh, it was delivered in jest,
Covering the spears that penetrate my chest.
Molten lava pumps from my heart

...It's better to stop, before you start.

Joyfull eh?