Do You Think Im a Whore?    Part 2

Life itself is unreasonable.
it was Life that killed me and Death that kept me driving down whatever He has me going
because fighting is all I ever had.
Why are the beautiful monsters so inconsiderate ? Never mind
                         my self-imploding. The poet in me loves the passion,
   the other pieces of me lie in
      that box, longing to be
        touched, though intangible.
   They must think I'm innocent.
My will wounded
on my scarred brown skin by the pearl, the plastic seam leaving it's white scar...
Time traveling will only slow down my future.
Deviance I so much have a passionate odium in

           for it is the
      parasite of
the Adultress,
the truth of my being,  the seed, I
deny the inheritance of her schemes,  though
  the Guardian says otherwise.  I am who
    I am; undefined yet tied in elegant
       woven words.
I crave as much as she did,
but words is what I consume more of.

My body- only a host.
                     Whatever semblance of control I have left
                                             is only a strip away.
I hold on for dear Death,
the emotions feel so alive.
  Forgetting the mental box, I fear of what I will be

  I just might cut my head off.