she collects bounties for each heart she has stolen
her price raises by the second as her prisoner stares deeper
into intricate eyes
they become incaptivated
lost in a web woven finely; perfectly with lies
they lose control of their body for they are tangled
fibers binding their wrists, ankles, torso, and head
no longer are they their own being
yet with widened eyes jaded by love, lust, confusion
one would think reality would overcome them
one would ponder the idea as to how this individual let themselves be taken advantage of
this is not the proper set of questions
what we should be asking, what I will ask,
why does she choose this line of work
painting the innocent for reasons untold
YOU ARE READING
breathe {poetry}--
Poetrythis is not poetry it is emotion in its purest form; words
