Is it your nourishing nurture for me?

Or a mere pale foreheads kiss!

For my heart is in qualm,

A fog or a mist.

Or is it the wicked clouds, the hurdle

My poor heart,

Will have to pass.

To see if you are the one.

The one whom I lost,

Or the one I yearned to last.

My skin and bones, a puppet of yours.

And the threads you brutally ragged.

So it is the breathing beauty in shape?

Or the deceased scars within!

The stars in those dense woods,

Crafts your way to me.

For if it is beauty- the beauty must die.

As the beauty pulls your skin,

While the scars,

Allures the soul.

The mourning pain in the pleasure,

Can your eyes see?

And the screams in those moans,

Do your ears heed?

This moment,

Your tormented, blue, teary eyes.

The other,

Greedy, black, smirking.

Gulping your poison, the last sip,

The death moth.

Adieu to the mistress,

For the lover I want to be.