Where two souls languish in a house built on sand,
Two shadows circle, daggers hidden in each hand.
Love, that mythic beast, is starved and chained—
It rattles the cage, deranged and pained.

She is the architect of mirrors, the queen of smoke,
He, the king of silence, the bruise beneath her joke.
They raise a cathedral of grievances, stone upon stone.
Each prayer for connection, a curse secretly intoned.

Brittle vows unravel, hearts battered and distraught,
Secrets twist like serpents, tangled, cold, and taut.
The world demands a villain, a hero, a script well-wrought;
But the truth twists inward—a riddle, a spiral, a knot.

She scripts her life in puzzles, a ledger of complicated lies,
He polishes alibis, dons innocence as disguise.
They revolve in the dark, twin collapsing black holes,
Consuming all brightness, conspiring for control.

Outside, the river remembers every whispered lie,
It drags their ghosts downward beneath the moonlit sky.
Neighbors peer through curtains, hungry for blood,
But miss the real violence: the absence of love.

In the quiet of the kitchen, she sweetens his tea—
A pinch of forgiveness, stirred in carefully.
He grates bitter almonds, weaving ruin as dark art.
Each blessing a sentence, each kindness a dart.

They exchange gentle glances, rehearsed and precise,
Each convinced the other’s heart harbors no vice.
A chill lingers over dinner, confessions neither will reveal—
Two lovers, two poisons, seal their last desperate meal.

The sun finds them peaceful, side by side in their bed,
A portrait of devotion—at least, that’s what’s said.
The headline reads “Tragedy,” love severed from life—
But the house sighs in relief, freed at last from their strife.