“On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?”

Far wandering is the lost and tainted soul, in lust’s caresses
Posing as the angel sent to please, from hell beyond the mind’s control
The moth-like heart, so drawn to the untempered flames of passion and pretenses
Like will-o-the-wisps, the words so soothing they may be for the lonely soul

They flicker with the warmth of love and leave when the night is done

And left to linger, we are broken, a piece never to be regained
The tender touch takes us, withered shells remain

“Will he offer me his hunger?”

Seduction – the bittersweet taste of drowning, of dark serenity and cherished panic
Worthless are the ten pints of scarlet devotion, and every tear shed in blissful silence
Betrayed, given in to the lull of secrets and the cruel embrace of memory
How is the razor on the once-soft skin so surprising, when no false lover suffers penance?

There is beauty in the honesty and certainty of pain

When love is fleeting, the sweetness of the flesh secured by hollow promise
No sanctuary from regret, no freedom from the weight of a precious word’s harness

“And will he starve without me?”

The lure of temptation taints the petals – they linger yet, in contemptible remembrance
Begging to be returned to a time that echoes near, but out of reach in the heart’s desolation
Sullied by desire, we weep once the fog has lifted, and revealed the mirrors that pledged the truth
Forgiveness is a creature hasty to flee, leaving us with naught but blame and guilt as consolation

Young fools and shallow fancies walk bound by the handcuffs of remorse

Depression takes hold, when we seek for aid and all we find are backs, turned away
Family and loyalty no longer of import, when all parties but the long-gone perpetrator feel betrayed

“Does he love me?”


He does not

“On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?”


And we will desire to be a white rose

Long after our petals turn red

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