To the one I call pure:
tormentor,
teasing me with everything you have,
making me think of only you

Your beauty,
your grace,
your charm,
all of it brings you so much brighter,
with so many others thinking the same thing,
how am I suppose to think it,
How am I suppose to compeat with so many others,
others that are smarter,
or better looking than myself,
why should I even try,
but I can't help thinking
woman of so few words to me,
I too am with so few words,
forced to just think


To the one I call pure,
my dreams label you as my tormentor,
my poison,
I see you high upon a golden throne,
looking at so many,
yet I stand here being one of many,
I can not stop thinking of what could happen,
just can't stop thinking of the one,
pure.