How is this on me? How is this my work?
Is it my fault I make men lurk?
Why do they expect me to reciprocate?
When I feel but naught for them, is it my mistake?
True, my heart remains frozen, I breathe down cold feelings.
That doth not state you go down kneeling.
You knew beforehand. I am evil, I am venomous.
Why do you tread when you know the path is treacherous?
Benevolence pours through the pores of my porcelain skin.
Leaving me soulless, the epitome of sin.
And yet they linger, for a glance on my grace.
And spit bitterness after having a taste.
And oh you who lay 'neath the deep sea, our love was not yet ripe
Has patience escaped your conscious, that you let go on dear life?
Into the bottomless pit I hope you fall,
I dare you, pick up His call.
For the reason you have stayed here long enough has gone amiss.
I would rather lay by your side than gift you your coveted kiss.
YOU ARE READING
The Perspective Complex.
PoetryTasting death, the mortal finally stands up against the queen of personification. Upon deliverance, the queen of personification responds with weightless elegance.
