For The Women Who Are Hard To Love.

Satan Herself.

Heartless.
Evil, Confused, Crazy, Unloveable.
S A T A N, Herself.
I mean she couldn't help it. She'd always known what she what she was doing. How could a girl so senile be such a joy to be around and talk to? The type of girl to do him wrong but somehow he'd still end up apologizing. She was a bad habit that could not be quit. Like moths to a flame, that beautiful light would burn him anyway but damn, it was worth it. She was so self destructive. She knew she wouldn't be around too long. Then again, the Devil is a lie. What the fuck was wrong with her? That smile, that laugh, "I love you" she said. And she did love him. She loved them all. But if they'd stuck around, they would learn to hate themselves just as she did. She was not good for them but the thought of being happy tempted her. She knew they deserved better, a healthy stable love. She could not provide such luxuries. They were always trying to "fix" her. She found comfort in her little broken mess but it always got lonely lying on the floor trying to pull yourself together while he's always showing another girl off all whole and one. His new obsession was a beautiful painting of a billion different beautiful flowers, but She, was a compilation of different strokes and splatters on a canvas, lines and closed figures that most did not understand. It was so foreign to them, it didn't make sense, why was it here, it isn't familiar, but it was art at it's finest. There were always a few who didn't like flowers but found the abstract piece an indescribable beauty. A beauty not all would understand but would be loved and cherished by those who do. And even if it was evil, some understand that even The Devil needed love too..