She brings forth hell's fury from my mouth;
A black, burning rage swimming through my veins,
And she smiles, and tells me that it makes me pretty.
I want to strangle her.

So effortlessly, so cluelessly, she begs my attention,
My obsession, my affection, my addiction.
She wraps her little angel legs around my waist,
The waist of a lonely god.

She's aware, as am I, that to continue this charade,
Is to dig her grave in the cemetery of a commoner.
Her stone will be unmarked, her death on my hands,
and yet, still I cannot bring myself to leave.

She intoxicates me, drives my mind
To the very brink of insanity, with
Love, and lust, and hatred, and desire, and guilt,
And absolute, catastrophic fury that threatens Armageddon.

I crave her lips, and her hips, and her hands,
And her stubborn, loud mouth,
And her words that tear me down,
And the violence she incites from my mind.

I am the worst substance for her, like drinking chlorine.
She is even worse for me, like mercury,
Bringing out the demon in me,
That awful creature of chaos that she loves to see.

And as I've mentioned previously,
Despite my desperation for release,
She has me in the palm of her hand. I could never escape.
I more than long for, I need, I crave her infuriating arrogance.

I am just another sad case of addiction,
Without hope of rehabilitation.
As long as she lingers on my breath,
I will continue to destroy.