The monster claws at skin leaving scars. His silver eyes look at me with understanding and hunger, longing for our intimate connection. He can be pointed but I know he understands me. I know of his silver tongue but I still listen to him naively. I know he can hurt me but I still love him. I let him dress me in crimson and relief. Others don't understand, when they realize they look at me like I am insane, I guess they have a point to. Just because I look for the best me in all the worst ways doesn't mean I should be considered a psychopath. Just because I found a way to cope with the abusive nature of this earth doesn't mean I should be hated? I desire his touch he knows my curves and my imperfections. At least he accepts me.