Lies, lies, lies

[vagabond]

A beautiful fallacy woven together with silken strings of white,
Neatly laid across your heart, and stitched on tight
A lovely little falsity, better yet, a lovely little fable...
Preying on the minds of the young, the weak, the ready willing and able.
a travesty believed to be a gift from his benevolent grace,
A chemical imbalance, an imperfection, a deceitful disgrace.
Do not be fooled by this malevolent waste,
Free yourself of these lies tight embrace.
This lie is a virus passed amongst society much like H.I.V.
Only the virus that I speak of is spelled L. O. V. E.

---

No meter, dramatic, bad end rhymes...  I know, I know..

I would rather compare the idea of “true” love to a religion than a virus.

because you can´t prove love doesn´t exist. it may or may not be a problem believing in it.

 

still like the words and the content of your poem because if I ignore the last two lines  it seems to me an accusation of a fake and romantic love picture.

but maybe this is arrogant of me, because if love is a feeling how could it be described as true or false. there is no true or false hate either. somehow hate is never questioned to be true.