I am the nightmare you're yet to have. The beautiful dream that turns suddenly into something you've long been trying to escape. The colorful bird that turns into the black serpent wrapping all around your soft feminine body frozen in fear, as it finds it's way between your closed legs, searching for the most sensitive place to place it's fangs and inject it's sweet venom.
I am the demon you are yet to realize it has already made you his to capture and torture. Until you take more than you have before, take more than you thought you had to give, and after I take more than you can even bear to endure, I take even more. You are the vessel I fill, the body I consume, and the beauty I need to feel.
I am the one thing you thought you could avoid, the thing you were never brave enough to face, but still never saw coming, when we collide in the dead of night forever changing you life. For the better and for the worse, I will reach all your hidden secrets and one by one set free. The terror and the relief of release will leave a great scar across your sweet, tender, aching heart, but it won't be ugly.
No, my dear, it won't be ugly at all, It will be the image of your true self burned indelibly by the heat between you and me, as we struggle for possession of your heart and body. Though the image is yet to be written, for it is in a language only we could ever read. Though I promise, however it manifests itself, it will be spectacular.
Your writing is becoming less than bittersweet. It's becoming sordid. I know it's splendid in the idea, I will worship you, but a love lasting always needs more substance than being the substrate that will poison you. It's wonderful you display passion, heat, hurt, but truthfully I'd rather find a monastery.
