Mess

Flipping through the mess, quenched fires of a stricken match stick blown away in the smoke- countless flaws but one of a knave.

I'm her subject lying prostrate before her throne of pleasure, I'm a captive lured with deceptive winks, I'd smile like a knight- like I've got territories conquered.

I never get enough, I keep licking my fingers, the aroma was ignited in my nostrils, the appetite in my soul, my thirst died the moment I had the first sip.

I heard negative paintings about her, but all I saw in her was a positive spark.

For how long will I dwell repeatedly on my weaknesses?
This mask is a joy to my weak mind, pains on my flesh, a bleeding heart all the time, I've grieved the Spirit times without track back.

I'm guilty that I feel my tears are crocodile-like, I don't wanna cry them- I'm just a disgusting villain, I need Spiritual cleansing!