Conceit

The distance keeps growing and silence screams Pride and vengeance have built walls of steel in between Once inseparable, now separated by their conceits Victory for retribution; while once-upon-a-time love weeps Malice rolls off tongues, and anger lashes out Spite to gouge deep-rooted hurt sprouts Abhorrence at the very existence of each other shouts Neither backs down, fickle self-worth stands proud Passion that once burned fierce, is now buried down Who is winning, or is it a unanimous defeat? What is to be earned by this venomous feat? Has Love really burned out and exhausted its heartbeats? Or has it been poisoned irrevocably by their own despicable Conceit?