Though her eyes are jeweled crystals,
She is the annotation of a valid *****.
Asinine men still don't envision,
She is the offspring of Satan.

Women see her true form,
Underneath that pallid, limp skin.
With lipstick as red as strawberries,
The masquerade is precisely blood from the virtue.

Animals snarl at her without awe,
Yet she's the carnivore.
Her black crinkling hair covers her coyness,
Only to ****** the prey in the hotel room at dusk.

What a soul so harmonious,
What a mind so frank.
For not the doctor,
As he replied she'll be returning home.

Her child so unaware and aghast,
"I want my mommy!" He mourns.
How to tell a youthful son,
He doesn't have a mommy anymore.

Her carcass now cinders,
Only in the color of iron.
Into the atmosphere she goes,
Still remaining in consciousness hearts.

Immaculate by daylight,
Atrocious at dark.
The stimulus for flesh makes them moonstruck,
Hidden away by an exploit pokerface.

Shades of red everywhere,
Roses and wine still can't satisfy the cravings.
With no guilt and no agony,
Everlasting crimes are on each corner.

The raven interceded in the turtle dove's life,
No longer singing the anomalous melody.
Deteriorated DNA samples and clues,
The oracle slayer whereabouts remain unknown.

My dearest soulmate,
You are the isolated one I focus on.
From the artisty of your looks to your gentle heart,
I continue to see you as the one I love.

The moment you got on your knee at the stair case,
You promptly had my heart as yours.
The malleable touch of your lips against mine,
I could feel the connection of love from then on.

You are eternally mine,
No matter how many others try to break us.
Ups and down will arise,
But honey you and I are one.


*Dedicated to my best friend/love of my life. 8.22.11

Arctic raindrops hit the back porch glass,
Singing the sad tale of blue angels.
Queasiness fills her stomach,
As she breathes more smoke into her black lungs.

Her emerald jeweled lighter sparkled,
Reflected off of the single light bulb.
The savoriness of fruit satisfied her tongue,
More than a sip of whipped ***** could ever do.

The bathroom mirror still haunted her,
Only to proclaim the scars and bruises.
From inside and out,
She still debris as another victim to herself.

Her mind never at halt,
Eyes glued to the construction paper.
Images and ideas ample her supple eyes,
But none seem to be right.

Ink as fatal as cyanide,
The anglic shade of sapphire blends in its veneer.
From sorrow to dotage,
Each picture was erroneous to her.

Tonight her brain shall sing,
A mollifying lullaby to leisure her troubles.
For as she knows hale,
A vague mural will soon be born.