"adulterous" poems
400 years America ,
For 400 years America, we've been playing this game of cat and mouse, and for 400 years America, you refuse to give us the keys to the house.
For 400 years America , we've been asking to be free, and for 400 years America , you sat there and you promised me, all the freedom I could ask for , for just a small fee
For 400 years America , we've been paying that small fee in sweat, tears and blood
For over 400 years America, we have witnessed the flood, from the storm clouds that burst in a black mother's eyes. The Storm that rages in her heart as she cries. The Lightening that strikes her heart as she watches her son bleed as he dies.
For over 400 years America , we've had to watch our people bleed , for over 400 years America , you've literally scorched and scathered and destroyed our seed.
For over 400 years America our sons, daughters, fathers , mothers have bled and for over 400 years tear after tear was shed
The flags that represent you, makes you free . But the same flags that represent you, doesn't represent me. The flag that represents words that say"all men are created equal" considered me an animal and there seemed to never be a sequel.
400 years later and still "no refuge can save, the hireling and slave from the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave" I am not blind, don't need a stick or a stave, I am not foolish, I see the road that you have paved America!
For over 400 years, America, My brothers and sisters have fought for your pride
We carried your rifles, we lifted your flag and still you were snide
For over 400 years America, for you battles we've won
400 year later you still point your gun
It's been 400 years America, Gotdammit I am not a slave
I want my rights and you will not tell me how to behave!
You've always had freedom white man, and you don't know how bad I crave! that my kids grow up in freedom and for that I'll be brave to the grave. Even if it kills me, I will not let the color of my skin decide whether or not I win. I will not you let, America, and your adulterous, heinous sin control me and the condition I am in
400 years later America, and you act like you still don't know their names
400 years later America and you still plea ignorance, you don't feel their pains
Emmit Till, Trayvon Martin, Freddie Gray
These are some of the lives from us you took away
400 years later and you still make us pay
and that's not okay....
To you slavery was yesterday and we should shout free at last?
To you the last police shooting was last week, we shouldn't riot, it's in the past, You want us white washed but we can't shake the scars from centuries in a caste
Freedom isn't free, but I still believe, I still believe that someday my eyes will see, all nations, all skin colors under one tree, connected to one vine, to the divine
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 8:13 AM UTC
The worst part is
I loved you back
Adulterous affair,
Absolutely abominable!
Maybe you didn’t mean to love
Me, the girl inside
the young woman’s body,
you only thought you knew
Flirtatious banter
once hinted at thoughts
Unsayable;
Intelligible abyss once linked
unsuspecting minds;
Understanding so
Deep, so
Accidental.
Praise me, praise me.
Be careful,
Time is taking over,
How could you, you fool
You can't beat the clock!
You're in love now.
Did you intend for this?
But was it Me you sought to love?
Or was it just my body?
The thrill of the ilicit,
The power
Over a child?
Origins unknown
Grown out of your control.
Say goodbye to reason
I’m your master now.
What’s happening to you?
You’re afraid and I, well
I am the child
who will destroy you
Words, your last weapon
Escalating, no wait, stop
You’re killing yourself.
It's too late
I tried to warn you
You failed me, embarrassed
Me.
I egged you on.
I loved you back.
I’m sorry.
#MeToo
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 11:55 PM UTC
Blue eyes that are as encompassing as the ocean
Silk skin I wish to peruse and embrace
Skin that my lips lust to kiss
That my tongue lust to taste
The consequences for this adulterous heart I surely will pay
For it will do more than engage in intimate conversations it will manipulate my words
So my bare hands can caress your curves
Like an alcoholic in the bar I’ll never learn
This is not what love is
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 10:30 AM UTC
bubble gum died Sunday of strokes at his home ,
The pink bubble gum ...
had a tiny comic strip
Little children wanted to read the comic.
in an adulterous liaison
and is born homely and with green skin.
under the hawkish gaze
in retro pastel uncool-they’re-cool-again cans,
a big splash with a peppy
emoji-like smiles on the side and some polka dots
oh oh oh oh oh oh thus liked
consumers should felt free
... to be relentlessly
Has almost no bite.” “Full-bodied.
This tastes like a Twizzler...
“Sharper bubble feel.”
acrolein, acrylamide, acrylonitrile,
crotonaldehyde and propylene,
flavorturned into a huge mess like 'unicorn poop'
and bubble gum."
oh oh oh oh oh oh thus liked
“All those teenagers was twerk,
take selfies and curse up a storm. …”
oh oh oh oh oh oh thus liked
...turned into a huge mess
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 3:23 PM UTC
Spring is in the air and so is married love;
For marriage is a gift from up above.
Holy wedlock offers one unending joy
Which all the sands of time will ne'er alloy:
Once you're married both of you are free
To get stuck into some adultery.
From now on each new fornication
Will have an extra-marital relation.
So go and get your neighbours' tongues a-wagging:
With some adulterous randy ******** ********
*Ah! que j'aime une nuitée chaude de fornication
(tellement, tellement mieux que la ************
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 8:41 AM UTC
Gnashing of teeth,
Tearing of vestments
Crematory waste
Smeared upon my face.
Angst
God has died,
A wanton suicide
Her ******* children
Now run this place.
Angst
***** stained covers
Adulterous lovers,
Depart smiling,
Not hiding their Faces.
Angst
Wounded skies bleed
On terra infirma indeed
It’s poison leaching
Into bubbling brooks.
Angst
Bonita Muerte
Erasing the pain
Setting the corpses
On the pyres again
Angst
AD
Aug 29, 2010
Aug 29, 2010 at 11:18 AM UTC
Is this how they felt?
Those women, adulterous?
Those men, thieving?
Breathing in the bitter metal
Of their shackles,
Just before treading the welcome mat
Of Death?
I sit here, breathing,
Aware of the awkwardness of breath,
Fearing everything, when nothing
Threatens me within this night.
Still, I can't help but wonder
If my mind is crazed or
If human kind is crazed.
Which is it?
If reality does not exist
Without my perception of visible light
And awake consciousness,
Then isn't everything just a reflection
On the mirror in my mind?
If I slow down the shutter,
All is over-exposed.
If I warp my vision,
Sanity's window is closed,
And no breath of fresh air will I feel,
Until my body's decomposed,
And I'm floating freely in the dark...
It's normal, I suppose.
I really shouldn't have gotten ******
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
Version 1
Would he have noticed her?
If her face was not as it was.
Would she have been so full of herself?
If her beauty was not so daring.
Beauty is a curse;
Yet she embraced it like a blessing.
"I want a woman who will make my children beautiful"
Was all he ever thought of.
She did give him that,
But they too were a curse.
All five of his daughters reminded him how shallow his life was to wish for beauties.
A constant reminder of how adulterous his wife was,
A crime she always got away with for being beautiful.
Had he been wise,
He would have wished for a beautiful woman as a life partner,
Not a pretty ***** that fulfilled his hopes with a hall in his chest.
Now everyone laughs at him.
Tempted and slaughtered by the ugly duckling he mistook for beauty.
For if beauty is her,
Then indeed
Beauty is a curse!
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 8:25 AM UTC
To be compared to a godess, a golden creature in a shining bodice.
(Is this what girls want?)
to be as fair as aphrodite, grace and beauty and lovers mighty.
(and to be an adulterous back stabber!)
to have athena's dilligence wisdom and intelligence.
(and to be a moody cow who cow who cant take critiscm)
or put hestia to shame, purity kindness a maiden without blame
(a symbol of female submission)
then may your wish come true and have all the blessings of a godess
(most of you already have there curses)
Mar 11, 2011
Mar 11, 2011 at 8:14 AM UTC
It feels like betrayal to say your name
So I don't
I don't say it out loud
I don't identify you
It feels crooked
It feels wrong
To maintain normalcy
I spit it out
It feels acidic
After choking it down
I want to be here
I'm addicted to you
But saying your name
When it was his too
Isn't a romantic confession
Just an adulterous taboo
Aug 10, 2022
Aug 10, 2022 at 9:02 PM UTC
now, I was just minding
my own business
brought up by very virtuous parents
steeped in a culture ancient and proper
and graced with divine revelations;
the lotus forever growing pure
even in muddied waters;
and so minding my own business
and vowed to matrimonial chastity in mind
never looking at another woman
and never thinking of another ever
I mean no one thought
looking at Mona Lisa
even in my younger days
was ever bad; they simply said:
Oh, Mona Lisa…what a painting!
so I went about years
chaste, pure and I think, angelic,
until these women come into art books
and now more readily in cyber-life
like Rembrandt’s Bathing Woman -
oh, how could I not look?
She, Hendrickje, more natural and
more come-here-you than
today’s airbrushed digitally enhanced beauties…
O Hendrickje, Hendrickje,
entering the water
and lifting up her dress
so it won’t get wet
but O – was that really her intention?
Or perhaps to entice Rembrandt further?
Or to look at her own reflection?
and then what about us, full-blooded men of latter-days –
O Rembrandt, what have you done?
how can I not look, and look?
and come back to look again?
and under pretence of aesthetics I trace every
limb and curve of Hendrickje, O Hendrickje –
I become a Rembrandt of sorts,
just tracing lines on her image
O these cyberspace beauties
they corrupt my high ideals
And Rembrandt says across the ages:
Remember you your traditions and virtue…
And the morally upright say:
Hey! She was Rembrandt’s woman!
And I can only quip: Yeah - she was!
and leaving it at that
with O Hendrickje, Hendrickje,
gazing at her own reflection
and I wondering what she sees –
well, after Hendrickje, O Hendrickje
am I safe? you think?
Then come the women of Japan –
for instance
A woman Applying Powder
while Hashiguchi Goyō sketched and mixed his paints -
and why? Oh why, Hashiguchi Goyō?
why do you release these sirens, these women
this Woman after her Bath
this Woman combing her hair -
O these mistresses of the arts
O why release them
on my sensitive and pure
and morally upright mind?
O why you do corrupt
such a one
such a noble mind
that centuries of spiritual values jousted one another
to produce? Such a delicate specimen as I am.
Or may be
all these women should be deleted from cyberspace
and only decent women with quizzical smiles like
Mona Lisa should prevail…
Sure, we don’t know what she’s smiling about
but at least Old Lisa’s not as dangerous
as youthful Hendrickje, O Hendrickje -
or
as the Woman Applying Powder
baring her shoulders and her Japanese *****
I mean, how can I not look?
and come back again to look?
O my adulterous heart!
but delete them all
or black them out
or cover them all up from head to foot
(technology can do wonders nowadays)
so
I can just be minding
my own business
brought to you by very virtuous parents
steeped in a culture ancient and proper
and divine revelations
the lotus forever growing pure
even in muddied waters;
and I’ll end up in Heaven after all my Holy Days
and for my Eternal Holidays there
I’ll be given all the virgins I’ll ever want
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 4:38 AM UTC
Night was ruled
by deceit, every moment,
deepening shadows moved
with poisionous intentions,
knives of sharp lights
they hid behind their back.
An authoritarian owl,
angrily kept threatening its opponents,
by repeatedly stabbing
the silence of the night,
with his shocking hoots.
When the cadaverous moon
slyly came out of cloud thickets,
trotting foxes hiding
behind gravestones,
made intermittent eerie howls,
lacerating the dark muteness.
A mighty night bird,
off and on, drew its shadow,
across the moon's surface,
but never felt satisfied
The barking dogs
all at once stopped,
and created panic.
Like death knell,
wind made noises,
on the foliage of trees.
A dejected lover,
wrote a melancholy note,
spilling out sad thoughts,
in the faint light
of a dying oil lamp.
An adulterous woman,
impatiently waited
near her half opened window,
looking out for
her midnight paramour,
who never keeps time as promised.
The night stood still,
spreading its serpent hood,
listening to million secret sounds
watching everything,
without batting an eyelid.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 3:49 AM UTC
Me! I! Myself! Mine!
I shout these words in militant exertion,
Demanding people to stop,
Commanding them to hear,
Ordering their full, undivided, worshipful attention.
"Am I not the centre of the universe!? Listen to ME!" I scream,
And sulk like an angry child as the world continues on,
Unperturbed, unaltered, un-adoring,
Without even noticing my voice.
If no one else will pay me heed,
Then I, at least, must do so.
So I worship my own image,
And prostrate myself before the alter of my self conceit.
I sing my own praises to my own ear,
And ********** myself to myself
in a vain attempt to satisfy my undying vanity.
Oh, you vainglorious *******
Made illegitimate by the illegitimacy of your false worship
And the hypocrisy of your heart.
Do you not know, you were made to kneel? Fashioned to bow,
Not to your own image, but before the visage if Him Who made you in His own likeness
That you might bear within yourself the most sacred cartouche,
The most precious signet,
The most holy seal.
For you have been called to higher things than this broken clay vessel you defile with your adulterous worship.
Oh, you conceited fool!
Puffed up in your own pride,
Unaware of how utterly worthless you have made yourself.
And yet your Maker still stoops from Heaven
To hear your piteous moans,
And His heart weeps to see your self-inflicted wounds.
Thus He reaches down
And whispers His deepest Love to you
While you are yet gleefully drowning in your sin.
So unaware are you of anything but fleshly gratification.
But He touches you,
When you least expect it.
Like pearls discovered in a dung heap,
He surprises you with the Treasure of His Grace.
And with the tenderness of His Loving touch,
Lifts you from your mire and whispers in your ear:
"Oh, my Little Worm, I am your Redeemer."
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 10:54 AM UTC
now, I was just minding
my own business
brought up by very virtuous parents
steeped in a culture ancient and proper
and graced with divine revelations;
the lotus forever growing pure
even in muddied waters;
and so minding my own business
and vowed to matrimonial chastity in mind
never looking at another woman
and never thinking of another ever
I mean no one thought
looking at Mona Lisa
even in my younger days
was ever bad; they simply said:
Oh, Mona Lisa…what a painting!
so I went about years
chaste, pure and I think, angelic,
until these women come into art books
and now more readily in cyber-life
like Rembrandt’s Bathing Woman -
oh, how could I not look?
She, Hendrickje, more natural and
more come-here-you than
today’s airbrushed digitally enhanced beauties…
O Hendrickje, Hendrickje,
entering the water
and lifting up her dress
so it won’t get wet
but O – was that really her intention?
Or perhaps to entice Rembrandt further?
Or to look at her own reflection?
and then what about us, full-blooded men of latter-days –
O Rembrandt, what have you done?
how can I not look, and look?
and come back to look again?
and under pretence of aesthetics I trace every
limb and curve of Hendrickje, O Hendrickje –
I become a Rembrandt of sorts,
just tracing lines on her image
O these cyberspace beauties
they corrupt my high ideals
And Rembrandt says across the ages:
“Remember you your traditions and virtue…”
And the morally upright say:
“Hey! She was Rembrandt’s woman!”
And I can only quip: “Yeah - she was!”
and leaving it at that
with O Hendrickje, Hendrickje,
gazing at her own reflection
and I wondering what she sees –
well, after Hendrickje, O Hendrickje
am I safe? you think?
Then come the women of Japan –
for instance
A woman Applying Powder
while Hashiguchi Goyō sketched and mixed his paints -
and why? Oh why, Hashiguchi Goyō?
why do you release these sirens, these women
this Woman after her Bath
this Woman combing her hair -
O these mistresses of the arts
O why release them
on my sensitive and pure
and morally upright mind?
O why you do corrupt
such a one
such a noble mind
that centuries of spiritual values jousted one another
to produce? Such a delicate specimen as I am.
Or may be
all these women should be deleted from cyberspace
and only decent women with quizzical smiles like
Mona Lisa should prevail…
Sure, we don’t know what she’s smiling about
but at least Old Lisa’s not as dangerous
as youthful Hendrickje, O Hendrickje -
or
as the Woman Applying Powder
baring her shoulders and her Japanese *****
I mean, how can I not look?
and come back again to look?
O my adulterous heart!
but delete them all
or black them out
or cover them all up from head to foot
(technology can do wonders nowadays)
so
I can just be minding
my own business
brought to you by very virtuous parents
steeped in a culture ancient and proper
and divine revelations
the lotus forever growing pure
even in muddied waters;
and I’ll end up in Heaven after all my Holy Days
and for my Eternal Holidays there
I’ll be given all the virgins I’ll ever want
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 4:38 AM UTC
She gave away the best thing for less,
as if Heaven spread its gates for a garage sale.
"But will you tell?"
I'm moving slow...
Like a snail in my approach to her.
It's best if I-I pretended like I never knew her.
She had a prada purse that screams,
"I can only do worse!"
She treated that thing beating In her chest
like a curse.
With no clue how to cure it.
Her hobby was to only corrupt the purest.
So don't call me false
in my intentions to hesitate;
from the moment our eyes connected
I knew my fate.
"But will you tell?"
I said,"what's your name?"
To her...
"you got this vibe that makes me levitate."
she retorts, "call me breathtaking
because I make men sufficate."
But who could breathe without her?
I'd give nothing less.
I said, "for you,
I'd gladly exchange all of the air in my chest.
because time grows in seconds.
I'd spend each one I saved on you."
She responds, "i'd watch the world burn
in exchange for the view."
So don't call me false
in my intentions to hesitiate;
she hit me with words I couldn't anticipate.
I could see her.
Pulse. Thumping.
The.
veins in her neck.
Forced me to put. my.
primal instincts.
In check.
She told me time is incorrect.
Its numbered by seven.
Broken into seven second increments.
Seven days in the week.
Seven deadly sins.
Seven circumstances with no right words for,
so instead we say friends.
She insisted I guess her favorite sin,
I guessed,
she said I was correct,
and then she asked,
" but will you tell?"
without getting Into detail:
she sealed the deal.
Even before she unbuttoned her blouse
-her smile-
I'd made my adulterous decision:
her attention and bare skin
was the wine she used
to wash away all my inhibitions.
"So listen,"
She says...
"In between heaven's gates
are seven indiscretions no one knows about,
that trade for the seven things
you'd never sell.
Tonight they're all yours
-if you want to savor them-
but only if you won't tell,
and again,
above all else:
If you pay for them."
-
Jun 11, 2023
Jun 11, 2023 at 11:46 PM UTC
We've been told all that glitter just isn't gold.
No adulterous relation stays secret.
Sooner or later, it will explode.
To the hurt soul that was lost in the dark.
They will be hurt.
Truly hurt.
To the soul seeking intimate joy.
You'll find hurt.
And realize the joy wasn't joyful at all.
Cause you realize that you're heading for a fall.
To some, it's a lesson of regrets.
And the hurt only gets worst.
To live a lie.
Is being an actor playing a part.
You're just as superficial as they come.
And when truth does come.
You act like you should be the sympathetic one
When just a lesson of regrets.
We heard that the truth should set you free.
But we must remember that truth can't always be spoken.
We learn from the mistakes we make.
Least, we should.
Except, there are some that makes lying an art.
What worst?
They sometimes do it in church.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 10:43 AM UTC
listen and look,
honey,
dear,
sweetie,
baby,
won't you shut the hell up,
you're driving me crazy.
I'd survive if you'd save me
but
love hasn't saved anyone I've ever met.
maybe someone who wants to know what to expect
like
home before dark and promises never kept,
and secrets in the park with naked words
frozen
on the lips of an adulterous misstep.
this is useless to those who crave the subtle bliss,
who enumerate ridges of skin dedicated with a kiss
and
catalog nerve endings that shiver and resist . and . just . (quiver to exist)
so promises never need be made,
so we can fall apart and it won't matter, none of this
we never needed a place in a poem or a dictionary,
just a dial tone or a few letters to arrange
to call home and portray the strange
and… try… to find a word…
that rhymes with… dictionary
never trying to deny
our eyes cannot lie,
they will fade from glory.
like the dead,
like you and I
like we needed to fake these scrawling notes
that claw for understanding of mistakes we once wrote,
inky sketches that wax polemical over a misquote
and crying starry eyes over favorite chemicals,
the elements we conjure with, so verbose and so broke,
over coffee and cigarettes and mostly ***** jokes
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 3:18 AM UTC
A Poet named Catullus
and Lesbia, his muse,
lived in a time of Civil War
when loyalties are confused.
Their field of battle was their bed
where Love and lust contend.
That place where all their passion
petered out and found an end.
It would seem Hades hath no fury
like a Latin poet scorned.
His Lesbia he would abuse
in prose, in Rhyme and song.
Where once he praised her beauty
and swore they'd never part,
he now condemns her deviousness
and damns her cheating heart.
The more things change
they stay the same
when Love decays to hate
They, who once coiled in adulterous sheets,
now despise each others name.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 7:09 AM UTC
I’m a work in progress,
Rebuilding walls man brought down,
Finding myself defenseless,
So blinded by deception,
Wouldn’t know he loved me, Even if he meant it Constantly sabotaging one love for the next, Becoming selfish with hearts,
Looking for one that fits my needs,
Instead of me fulfilling his,
Lost,
Drowning in faults,
With no way to reach to the surface,
Tired of falling into the word victim,
Beating myself up for being me,
Baggage, A leave it or take it deal,
He broke my heart, so I broke his.
Yet I’m still broken,
Looking for you to heal wounds,
That was never meant to be seen,
Scars cut so deep, I couldn’t help but let it be Working on my progress, But nothings progressing, My heart goes in and out remission,
Holding onto thoughts that you’ll stay till the end,Knowing your loves’ not a guarantee,
Fighting with words “I can only be me”
Realizing I have never been enough,
But who am I changing for? Him? Or me?
Working on my progress, But nothings progressing,Wanting to be more than just a scratch on his surface,
Not another notch on the wall,
Lying in adulterous, I see no future in,
Yet I give my life,
Loving you, loving me,
But it will never be enough.
Yet I give myself willingly,
Promiscuity screws me,
I’ll take the blame, Proving the guilt lies in me.Starving to find a better me,
Free to love you the way you deserve,
Passing you over, for someone worth less than you Terrified to give myself to you,
So I leave,
Running towards the nearest warm embrace,
Yet you stay, yet you wait Loving me still,
With every fault, Wanting me still, With every fault,Who am I changing for? Me? Or Him?
I’m a work in progress, I’ll admit that
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 4:52 PM UTC
Version 1
Would he have noticed her?
If her face was not as it was.
Would she have been so full of herself?
If her beauty was not so daring.
Beauty is a curse;
Yet she embraced it like a blessing.
"I want a woman who will make my children beautiful"
Was all he ever thought of.
She did give him that,
But they too were a curse.
All five of his daughters reminded him how shallow his life was to wish for beauties.
A constant reminder of how adulterous his wife was,
A crime she always got away with for being beautiful.
Had he been wise,
He would have wished for a beautiful woman as a life partner,
Not a pretty ***** that fulfilled his hopes with a hall in his chest.
Now everyone laughs at him.
Tempted and slaughtered by the ugly duckling he mistook for beauty.
For if beauty is her,
Then indeed
Beauty is a curse!
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 8:25 AM UTC
Treacherous Love
Acidiferous love
Billion faces of love
Adulterous love
The love starting in a *****
The love ending in a blink
Aligerous love
Anserous love
The Lethal weapon of love
Poisonous love
Armiferous love
Astriferous love
Sacred prayer of love
Blasphemous love
Treacherous Love
Poisonous love
Delusions of love
Asperous Love...
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 5:26 AM UTC
and the dance!
the breastless
love
the adulterous tune
petty
afraid to be vulnerable!
incestuous!
patriotic!
insane!
til the vagabound appears
with songs of mercy
and derring-do
and you
take off your raggedness
and reveal true aura
*******
hands
and eyes that dare to
try to see
absorbing everyone
and your lightly moving feet
Jun 24, 2010
Jun 24, 2010 at 12:37 PM UTC
Adulterous eyes
a vow to be unfaithful
marriage just paper
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
What a steep price I pay,
Just to touch your skin
Risking Hells damnation,
For our adulterous sin
Oh the heartbreak!
I know it lies in wait,
But in your eyes, my destiny
I'm bound to you by fate
Perhaps not in this life,
But hopefully, the one hereafter
I'll be the one to lie beside you,
The one to cause your laughter
Though I know that you'll leave me,
And scar me like no other
I give you my heart to carry,
My adulterous, fated lover
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 8:24 AM UTC