i. I have a friend, who lights up my life.
And she is not perfect; far from it.
In fact, she is a disease, crawling in my heart.
My heart can’t take much more.
ii. She comes to me, in her best dress and highest heels;
too high on her own existence to meet me half way.
I’m afraid that she is broken beyond repair.
iii. She is imperfect, the image of beauty,
The personification of sin,
I’m not the only one to have looked into her eyes and lost it all;
She can create a universe in a sentence, a world in a sigh.
iv. Her elixir is neat alcohol;
her home, a stranger’s sheets.
These strangers that she collects, piece by piece.
v. I wanted this to be a reflection, of how I think she’s perfect.
Her flaws are exquisite,
her lips and hips,
were made in dreams.
But I think instead that I am twisted,
for finding beauty in a creature as heartless as she.
vi. She finds herself in the blue coolness of a late night,
where sweat and whispered nothings cocoon her from the outside.
She is sex, and she excels.
vii. She is broken and tainted;
She makes you want to be too.