Control

It's that degree,
  self-pity,
                         and relinquishing that I abhor

It stands on a high carbon steel
   edge,
                only a true vixen can admire.
She gave way to opportunity,
      despite burning up
                   and chastized
fearfully to a flaming chariot,
She never vaunted
                    princess immortality.

It's that cold irrevocable hell
                  and swift ice canopies
                        for eyes that she sees fit for a pearl who thinks every goddess
is easy to understand.

She laughs at him.
He's just frigid night
Flimsy pleasure with one wing.

"No more tears, dear Spide!", she shouts to the rim.
      All faiths have been restored in
             metaphysical mason jars
Seething headache, she awaits the blackout.

It's not evil to be human,
       but if "too" human, reliquishing all power is a woman's end.
        And if one thinks thee is so powerful, he can scrape dust of the nymph in his dreams for all I care.