To him, I was beautiful,
To me, I am a beast.


In my eyes, he found the world,
yet my eyes were blind to all but the dark forests.

On his lips I could taste his spirit,
with none filling mine own.

In my hand, he found his,
yet I could feel nothing.

On his skin, I was painted as a rose,
ever wilting as my black heart faded from him.



To him, I was beautiful.
To me, he was beauty.
But who could ever learn to love a beautiful beast?