TrystanBehm

Deceptive Expectation

This curse, it loves me

Enchants my soul with a verse

Transforming this man, into a hearse

 

This embodiment like a steel breeze

Dragging forever and etching the walk

A signature that cannot talk

 

A race to the death, the first one loses

Like a cult gone awry, void of sadness

No capacity to cry

 

She sits there in the morning less gorge

Her heart black, torn with Holy guilt

The view askance with a demonic tilt

 

The slayer of love, bonds her will

Suffering and agony the only charges on the bill

She can’t stop; she will never get her fill