The moralistic, double edged blade in my hand is growing hungry for something dirty.
A gratifying bite, something satiable that will keep it still for months to come.
I dare not search for fresh meat, for they lack the jewel of innocence I seek.
No, something known; something familiar that my tongue can't get enough of.
Purity: the finest gem a demon like I can only ever dream of devouring whole.
How delicious it had been when it was in my watering mouth, its dissipating taste leaving me reeling, wanton for it all over again.
And I didn't dare look beside me: at the vessel who provided me such a rare luxury.
Attachment, after all, is never healthy in this deceitful line of play.
My source: She's a treasure belonging to another, not like me--someone caring.
A heart of gold, she says; one that treats her nothing short of royalty, spoiled.
One day, I braved a single glance and in that chance I spotted her gaze at the table.
Her pretty little collar sparkled in sunlight, calling for its owner once more.
I had no reason to search her lingering look; she was trapped in a pulling midst.
Poisoned, sure, but nevertheless...pure.
Hooked like an addict, I've wandered roads and ends, exploring what other options I had.
None so fulfilling, so satisfying as her quiet panting and whispering wishes of truthful, white-hot innocence.
How graceful she is in her betrayal, managing the image of a pristine angelic figure in sensual ecstasy.
In spite of my burning fingers igniting her ravenous flesh alight, she stays a valuable.
Priceless in the streaming, hidden shrouds of darkened secrecy that are my doing.
Yet, every morning, she dresses and places his collar around her neck and returns home, leaving me in a veil of painful wonder.
When did our roles of cat and mouse reverse throughout our illegal trysts?
A gratifying bite, something satiable that will keep it still for months to come.
I dare not search for fresh meat, for they lack the jewel of innocence I seek.
No, something known; something familiar that my tongue can't get enough of.
Purity: the finest gem a demon like I can only ever dream of devouring whole.
How delicious it had been when it was in my watering mouth, its dissipating taste leaving me reeling, wanton for it all over again.
And I didn't dare look beside me: at the vessel who provided me such a rare luxury.
Attachment, after all, is never healthy in this deceitful line of play.
My source: She's a treasure belonging to another, not like me--someone caring.
A heart of gold, she says; one that treats her nothing short of royalty, spoiled.
One day, I braved a single glance and in that chance I spotted her gaze at the table.
Her pretty little collar sparkled in sunlight, calling for its owner once more.
I had no reason to search her lingering look; she was trapped in a pulling midst.
Poisoned, sure, but nevertheless...pure.
Hooked like an addict, I've wandered roads and ends, exploring what other options I had.
None so fulfilling, so satisfying as her quiet panting and whispering wishes of truthful, white-hot innocence.
How graceful she is in her betrayal, managing the image of a pristine angelic figure in sensual ecstasy.
In spite of my burning fingers igniting her ravenous flesh alight, she stays a valuable.
Priceless in the streaming, hidden shrouds of darkened secrecy that are my doing.
Yet, every morning, she dresses and places his collar around her neck and returns home, leaving me in a veil of painful wonder.
When did our roles of cat and mouse reverse throughout our illegal trysts?
