My lady,

Oh how I love those rosy angelic cherry cheeks.

Oh how I admire your foxy corn-stranded sunshine hair.

Oh how I drool over the caress of that fair sensual oil skin.

Oh how I fiddle with them refined full blood lips.

Oh how I’m baffled by that Cleopatra spine-tingling smile.

Oh how I analyse your swift throat gulping movement.

Oh how I observe them bones of glistening bewitching talent.

Oh but how I love every part of you but beg you not to return my looks.

Oh how can I learn to love them
Delicate emerald tear-stricken eyes.

If it cripples me even for a second to dive within its grief-stricken ripples of a stare.

If you wish to call it blindness,
Then yes I’m blind.

If you choose to call it submission,
Then I am whipped and kneeling.

If you’re convinced to call it pathetic,
Then cringe because I’m woeful.

If you desire to call it a sin,
Then send me to the pits of hell my god.

If you pick to call it silly,
Then I must still be a immature child.

If you preach to call it ****** up,
Then I am surely deranged and crazy.

If you need to call it chemicals,
Then I’m definitely severely imbalanced.

If you need to call it all of the above,
Maybe spice it up add a few more words

please go ahead.
But I will always call it


L   O   V   E

When your danger was mistaken as adventure,
Causing frostbites to grow on my cementing heart,
It seemed my dull eyes developed disfiguring ulcers which tarnished my vision,
Because your lust was thought to be love.

While your manipulation was crowned as kindness,
My skin was being roughly tattooed with bruises and wounds,
It seemed my aura formatted from a cloud to a frigid speck of pathetic dust,
Because my submission was thought to be devotion.

While your destructive words seemed to be a gentle push,
I became trapped and forced,
While decaying poison was being injected within my fragile soul,
Because they labelled your control as being protective.

And now they call me cruel,
Inhumane and a monster,
When I don’t weep for their own ordeals,
When I don’t care about the pain they have experienced,
When I remain indifferent.

But I don’t mind,
Call me savage...ruined...changed...broken...nasty...
A monster?
Because I won’t and I don’t and I can’t
Feel one bit anymore.

She threw to many sharp stones.
So as her glass house tumbled down,
She would pick one of the shards of choir glass off the ground and use it
as a instrument.
Always playing the same violent violin piece across her dynamical skin.

Her mother always knew she had
a gift for music.
So when she heard the same solemn chorus pitching from the living room ceiling,
She darted to steal the show.

And become her daughters duet...her piano,
To hug her so tightly,
Singing and squeezing
Until her violin chords stopped bleeding.