It is in these moments that silence becomes tears. My fears, they lie behind the thin layer of cornea waiting for reality to set in. I live in a world of impure fantasy because life is just so unfathomably grey. The distain of imperfection makes wrinkles on my skin, around the crevices of my many frowns. I step on broken glass, my feet covered in oozing blood. I was not made for such destruction. My body so small, dainty. However if you knew of disappointments life has passed my way you'd know plenty. In the moments the room shakes and the devil appears. I lay here, pondering on the destruction of my unfathomable imagination. Thoughts so black, impure, chains and loud yelps of distain. I look, breakable... but the truth is I'm irreplaceable. My skin soft and smooth. Lips of tainted wine. Drunken and misused. I yearn for the destruction of your faint smile. Wishing for cries and pleas as your skin feels the dirtiness of their misdeeds. I find pleasure in the ripping of broken skin, in the kissing of fallen men. I find life feels ever so complete when my mind runs further than you'd think. I trick you with my disguised form however I'd want nothing more...than to use and be used. Just behind the faint tint of smokey lens, lies the truth of my sin. I'm pure, but crave lust. Heaven wishes for the pleasure of taunted skin. Wishing to lurk within the caves of your shimmering temptations. Speaking nothing more than beautiful aspirations of imperfection. Your thighs they draw me in, like a faint starlight sailors use the guide their nightly travels. I'd love to unravel within your sin. Show me the evil that Adam and Eve committed when they found each other's insides. Disguised as an angel I see the devil in your eyes. Kiss me, I want to feel your pain. Show me I wish to eat your distain. Feed me rivers of rich lustrous blood. Only you make my mind flood with temptation. Give me a promise I might just break it. If only this life made it possible to be both my selves than it wouldn't be as difficult to change my tune. However, time is utterly rude to its victims. My clock has struck its end. I must return to my reclusive state of mind and deny the evasiveness of my temptation. Come again my ever so bitter sweet fantasy maybe next time we can finally meet.
