Out of Order

Just something quick before bed. It's choppy and without a proper direction or theme.

At the end love does tip the scale,
and we teeter on a ledge.
Which way do we go from here?
And while the balance is incomplete,
we carry on without fail.
Devoted we give a pledge,
that our hearts will beat without fear.

Like drums to a rhythm,
bees to a flower;
there are words we can't fathom,
and others that make us cower.

For we are our enemy;
we are our friend.
A mirror will tell you what you see,
but it may also bring about your end.

Author's Note

No specific style, poor flow, makes no sense; I wrote it while half asleep.