_
Beauty is a princess
inclined to being cruel; she burned down my defences and used my heart for fuel she left me lying bleeding shaking, shivering in the cold and laughed to find me needing to believe what i’d been told the need for Beauty lives like venom in my veins each brief respite she gives intensifies the strain what twisting of my heart compels me to her side, what failure of my art to love and hurt divide? when Beauty calls my name she knows that i’ll be there torn between her flame and the thorns of my despair | _so deftly does she wield
the blade of her disdain the blood is half-congealed before i feel the pain as Beauty drinks my life with genteel little sips she polishes her knife and licks her pretty lips she knows that in a week when her hunger has revived she’ll hardly have to speak before i have arrived. |
