Not all women are monsters.

More often than during
The birth of Summer
And the death of Spring
Where my hands found home
On your back and hips
And caught up in your hair
Or a mass of your fingers
Do I witness the doubt
Stirring in your eyes
Manifesting as a
Lovers plague
That strips and rapes
And pillages the essence
You once held for me
And it's sad to see
A man so caught
Up in his hurt
From past girlfriends and women
(And women is being kind
To those who don't deserve
Such kind titles)
That he'd rather dwell alone
And suffer and allow
The plunder of his good charm
When he snaps and causes harm
To those who love him most