You called yourself an adventurer, a
pathfinder, one who like to take risks,
explore places no one else would brave.

You were young & curious,
but old enough to know,
old enough to stop.

You called yourself a friend, someone
to be trusted, but you took away the
cloth, stripped naked the ******, greedy
eyes and hands, slippery words, oiled
whispered consolations, assurances.

Your tongue took paths too raw,
journeyed to depths too young to
understand, but did you care for anything
but the sweet, almost corrupt taste?

Your fingers made of ice and lead,
delved deep into forbidden passages,
ripped through pink innocence,
now bloodied devil red.

You painted kisses on a tender, fledgling
canvas, murmured sweetly to soothe,
but you could not take back the knowing
that she would never again take back
the innocence you had
wickedly Chased.