I am more than simple and less than complex;
I am everything all at once.
And very naked of course.

So he picked me straight out
of his favorite magazine,
a forever piece.

This man that plays with fire-
Of his false truths, I am the buyer.

Dear God, he makes me tired
but yet I am still a hard-wired sucker for this liar.

Keep making a name for yourself,
but don't forget how mine tastes in you mouth.

Because the second its spit out,
your mind and heart can't help but follow.

Then, you'll be left a man of heavy wax
or even worse - completely hollow.

Every little thing he is
and I cannot be for anything more
than every little thing he is to me.

I cannot let go, no.
No, I insist I am lacing within
a velvet-kissed bliss.

This bliss had before come to me
only a dream,
so frightening and foreign.

But it's here now, and now, and always.
And before he existed himself and all his absoluteness.
And I and me
and a decree, quite deadly

Deadly to some pearly body.
A shell manifested by some bad habit.
Some habit, and something starving won't ****.
God, the vanity of this woman.

No longer is my divine identity there.

Instead, I've been replaced
With parts of pleasure-
The manufacturer: an unpleased man.

I am to only have a type of plastic confidence
If I am to get anywhere

And insecurity so lavishly chokes
Like a dozen little black pearls
To a few red moons
All meticulously dipped into the purply-blue
Of God's great typhoons.