He tells me that I allure him,
but not in the way of his normal suitors.
I break the books apart with one stare,
and I fall to pieces at the saddest of songs.
He tells me that I make him happy,
but only in the dark of night.
That I am the one for him,
But only when restlessness is at its height.
I want to scream,
I want to scream bloody freaking murder,
because I know that he knows.
The lust that grows,
makes it way into my heart.
My mind.
My soul.
His words have found my wounds,
licked them clean,
and sliced me open again.
His mind has silenced,
any individuality,
and I am as light as a feather.
I have floated into a dark corner,
of his guarded mind.
I was lifted,
over guard dogs,
electric fences,
needles,
to the place where all his victims go.
The difference lies in the key
I didn’t receive.
There’s no way out of the hell that I call heaven,
I share a bed with the devil.
I am chained with imaginary shackles,
I am pricked with the needles of victims,
who never existed.
And then I wake,
and the clouds of lust,
and the faulty promises of love,
dissipate.
I know I am not his prisoner,
but I want to be.