His fingers,
Traced down,
The permanent ink,
Stained all over her body.
 
She smiled,
At the feel,
Of his unique,
Touch.
 
But even she knew,
Beneath the pleasure,
Of their skin in contact,
He was searching.
Searching for something more,
For their unsure love.
 
He branched his fingers,
Over her fragile body,
Wanting to know,
If this was right,
If she was worth it.
 
He then pressed his lips,
Against hers,
And the sparks were flying,
Just like the first.
 
Yet she knew,
He was distracting her.
His fingers and eyes,
Had hints of only lust.
 
Even if his hands,
Were running up her spine,
She could picture,
His hands doing the same to another.
 
She refused to cry,
At least she was one,
Of the many,
He probably had.
 
As much as she wished,
There was no proof,
But only an abundance,
Of possibilities.
 
Still, she was under the impression,
He might have love for her.
 
But he was now questioning,
If she was his pretty face,
Or something more?
 
The light they had,
Seems to drift away,
But he doesn’t want to let go forever,
Not just yet.
 
He slowly whispers,
“I Love You,”
But she can see right through.
So many secrets, it hurts.
 
Tears break the spell,
Falling down her once rosy cheeks.
She thought he loved her,
Once.
 
He doesn’t notice,
Since she is too damaged,
She cannot speak.
He only kisses her deeper,
But with no emotions,
This burns her to the core.
 
She stays still,
Letting him play with her body.
This is the only way,
To show him she’s in pain,
But it only makes him deepened the pleasure.
 
If only she was prettier,
Nicer, better than the rest,
Then maybe, just maybe,
He could find the heart to love her.
 
Neither was sure,
If they chose the right path,
So instead,
They both are hurting bad