How tragic it must be
To be so contained within yourself
Locked away in a cage
Of broken bones and dreams.
So trapped by inhibition
That none may ever hope
To see the world of beauty
Behind those waterfall eyes.

She was not an angel
By any definition.
She was wild,
Dangerous,
With emotions as violent
As the crack of a whip,
And a glint in her eyes
That made me envy her prey.
No.
She was not an angel
She was the embodiment
Of willful damnation.

This blood is poison.
It flows and races,
And kills without malice.
I am not the victim
It is not my heart it attacks,
For my heart is too black.
Too poisonous in itself.
No, this blood will poison you
My love
Should you touch my heart
Feel my passion,
My pleasure,
My pain
This poison in my veins will **** you
And blacken
Your beautiful heart

It's been so long,
Since I've written for her,
I apologize,
But I've been too busy,
Kissing the words into her mouth

We broken creatures
Cannot survive ourselves
Without sadness.
Happiness,
Such a fleeting thing,
Would wane and weaken
Until happiness became melancholy...
We love and hate
The depths of our sadness,
And relish those beautiful moments
When we are saved from ourselves.

There is no greater betrayal
Than to believe yourself
Underserving
Of the love and happiness,
The acceptance,
That so discreetly powers our souls...

But even so,
I am a traitor unto myself