THE GIRL WHO SPOKE POETRY

INFATUATION

Have you ever seen him,

I did, his real face

Gorgeous, I must say

defined cheek bones, angular jaw,

a piece of art.

When you stare into his eyes,

pitch black, showed nothing but demise;

as you go deeper

they reflect all your fears

lips so pale, cemented

alas, they talked to me, at every dusk

everything was surreally adequate

except for the battle scar, I presume,

that started from his chin

ending at his hairline,

a chill ran through my spine

as my gaze went lower

a neck so mesmerizing, long, stiff,

but only till the collarbone

after then my eyes couldnt take it anymore,

every kind of wound, stab, cut

I could ever imagine

was carved on his body

his hands were big enough to cocoon mine,

welcoming, devoid of warmth;

I was scared to touch him

but I was tempted, my hands reached him

I hesitated but by then I was lost

I explored every ripping scar of his chest

I looked up, he smirked

he knew I was unable to let him go

he took me with him too show me the river Styx

and I was trapped,

in world that of the lord of hell

the devil himself.

- she hushed to him, in a manner of storytelling.