Fictitious

Heartbreaking in the eyes of sin       
that shatter quickly when one is near       
with the face of an angel, a heart quickly filled       
- words that linger in such eyes of sin.       
       
She loses       
herself       
on the lips of becoming,       
on the island of your fingertips       
as you trace back your morality,       
hers more sullied       
than yours.       
       
She becomes somewhat gleeful       
in the eyes of a stranger       
and the kinds that she pays for,       
some presence of strangers who       
       
leave disarray.       
She, the wench,       
so long wore colours of the Devil,       
so long held hands with the wicker demon,       
broke her back       
on your boat of strong morality.       
Her head wearier, much older       
than yours    
and yet she still    
loved your boat    
from the lazy waves
to the stormy
shore.