To David. I hope you rot in hell. And may your little whore die by the hand of the Fates!
Gypsy Warrior
Searching for Love
Harnassing hatred
A boy
Plays with a plastic doll
At a bookstore
Various rape victims
All casual with that
Knowing no law higher than their guilt
Incestuous behavior, lusting for death
Painted with sadness like brush over sky
Pale prisoner, trapped in a palace of tomes
Thinking she has found Love
Knowing she has spun a curse
Infecting the mind, he thinks she’s The One
Dark Lord, ruling lives
Making them, taking them into captivity
“I don’t love you,” he sneers. “Just your body.”
Hope falling, unraveling
Clasped dreams escape–no more peace
Laughter falling like rain
Broken innocence, never a care in the world
Play with your porceline princess
Don’t make her a martyr for beauty
There is nothing beautiful about Theft
Gypsy Warrior
Slaying false-lovers
Bringing injustice to a halt
Staggering for her dagger
Blood poured like a brushstroke
Sculpted gods of deciet taste death.