Illicit is the love you promise.
Clandestine is your touch.
How fair is your “honest”
When guile it takes to search?
And find I did no more than smoke and ashes,
Crestfallen hearts and broken hopes,
Affronted by the lavish gashes,
You clawed upon their hollowed bones.
Since when does my mind waver
and teeter in between
Not knowing if to savour
Or reason out of sin?
Collapsing under fawning whispers
And treacherous deceit,
My weakened knees will falter,
My roving soul will weep.
I’ll give you this, it is poetic
To cause them pain the way yours hurts,
Appeasing hedonistic raw aesthetic
While once deft body rots.
Ignore the gnawing sonder!
Ignore the battle cries,
Forgotten depths of yonder
Where the rumoured lover lies!
It matters not if rumination,
Is all you are left with in the end,
Where seething anger, that replaced elation,
Left a colossal dent.
It matters not that love was eager
To beat the kindness out of you!
You kill with such delight and rigour,
That all respect is due!
But here I stand, my hands are bloody
From keeping pressure on your wounds.
And etchings on your broken body
Tell tales of thousands stolen truths.