My desire is a woman’s desire.
It is cold, very icy, quite unlike fire.
A desire that is calculating and cruel;
One that turns all love into a tool.
A knife to use at my leisure;
To each grief it meets it measures.
It is insatiable with no ending in mind.
A desire that is not patient, not loving, not kind.
It lacks smile, emotion, and colorful tone.
Because it simply seeks it’s own.
A desire in which love is not subject.
Only touching and games are in effect.
When my desire is through, is bored
And you are lovesick and your heart has soared.
I will take my ice and ****** it deep
To leave you dying and without words to speak.
Only then will I be sated and filled;
Ready to add you to my score of the others killed.
But if comfort or relief can be surmised,
In the end it will be my heart led to demise.
So please gaze, enjoy, covet, despise
And watch my tragic trial with your eyes.