I Swear I Don’t Hate Cupid
If I hated cupid, I would shoot him with the pieces of my heart that were shattered by the arrow he pierced through my heart and into that of the monster who played with my life like I was a pawn on a chessboard. How dare they use me?

If I hated cupid, I would slap him with the word “love” because it was the weapon he cunningly used to control the soul that was once alive, now even Hades would not accept it in the darkest pits of the underworld. How dare they lie to me?

If I hated cupid, I would beat him with the arms that once moved my body and soul, now even the flood that moved Noah’s Arc couldn’t wash away the blood that is oozing from the remnants of my heart. How dare they defile me?

If I hated cupid, I would choke him with the thorns from the stems of the cliché rose pedals that he gave me on Valentine’s Day so that he would never ever shatter the innocence of another woman’s heart. How dare they damage me?

If I hated cupid, I would clothe him with the countless lingerie that I dutifully wore in hopes that I would once again charm my way into his cold, cold, cold heart, but even Angels could not fix what has already been marred by the game of chance. How dare they make me the butt of a joke?

Finally, if I hated cupid, I would cut of his legs with the paper I signed myself away to the man he so dutifully chose to be my undoing on this wretched earth. How dare they cripple me?

But in all honesty, there is no way that I hate cupid.