Icy Armor

There is this emptiness inside,
That I'm trying so hard to hide,
This pain won't go away,
Everything is shades of grey,
Oh why is my heart so cold,
And days seem to grow old,
My life seems without reason,
Like a plant grown out of season,
To wither in the summer heat,
Or freeze in winter's sleet,
Why does this icy heart,
Occasionally start,
And beat a little with care,
Why does it dare,
If only more pain will bloom,
Like a festering rotten mushroom,
Why does affection wane,
And leave behind pain,
In putrefying infectious rents,
As soul is cut to passions bent,
And then abandoned alone in the dark,
With agony blazing, yet stark,
Why do we fall,
To love's gentle call,
When it only exposes the scars,
Burning in black souls like stars,
The only remembrance of mortality,
And reinforcing this depravity,
Yet this love is like an addiction,
A pernicious affliction,
Which I had sworn away,
When the night had its way,
And trampled upon my sensitivity,
And marred me with even greater iniquity,
So I vowed to let none near,
To hold no mortal dear,
And to where this icy armor,
With mail forged of hatred's core,
Yet even still,
With this icy hateful chill,
Something melted and pierced the mail,
And threshed me like a flail,
As its warmth dissolved this armor,
This warmth, called amore,
But even those with greatest affection,
Should remember upon reflection,
That those accustomed to the cold,
Will not be so bold,
To stride forth into the flame,
Nor will they be easy to tame,
So tempt, or temper, but do not burn,
This is the lesson one must learn,
But heaven forbid this thing,
That once thawed like the spring,
That then they should once again,
Be rent, mauled, and torn by sin,
And feel great pain, and hatred once more,
Seeping sorrowfully into their core,
For that would extinguish forever,
A light you can rekindle never.