Dark-Wayfarer

The morning air, chilly While I tell myself not to shiver But I do anyway Ever since you left I feel the icy arrows of betrayal Pierce my veins with their toxins Hiding the pain at my own risk Only to remember the consequence Of what is left of me here Frozen suspicion Seeds of distrust, planted Twisted into a black vine Wrapping tight around my heart Temptation, only with contempt, never spoken Set as a trap By an awaiting archer Who deals with arcane cupids Only to hurt The morning air, chilly My heart, merely broken Yet not weakened By a shiver.