She chooses her victims carefully, precisely
A serial murderer stalking her prey
She wears the skins of victims passed
While one might feel cursed by her presence,
Damning the hell she came from
As I often am through no fault but ours shared,
There is no “luck” of the draw
Those words were meant to be spoken
That tear was meant to fall
That goodbye was meant to last forever
There are no coincidences, she is rarely that lazy
Rarely
Except for when she is
When she is instead a joyous lover from the heavens
Leaving a gentle kiss on your forehead as she walks through the door
Oh how light are her footsteps against the broken glass that was once you
She never bleeds, not for any of the hearts she has shattered
Her presence, however miserable at worst and tormenting at best
Can be most addicting
There are no worse withdrawals than from what was