Sta.sh
The walls were thick and spongy;
Absorbing all her thoughts and memories.
She was never apart from her colourful socks.
Her voice; a sharpshooter aiming to assassinate;
Reverberated deeply through the infrastructure.
She thought thrillers could only be watched at night.
Daring as they come, the virus was contagious.
Her smile was toxic- a pool of perspective.
She loved listening to silence.
Multitudes of aspirations; hers; dripping through me.
An invasion of the mind and body- her venomous vows.
There was never anything she couldn't do.
She grew in me like a cancer; a mutated mirror.
I was her bane and her Achilles heel.
She speaks in confidence; letters already burnt.
Nothing was more infectious than her eyes-
A bright and suggestive jade.
She wore her heart corseted to her chest.
Her posture wrote a poem; seductive and sorrowful;
Those legs were drugs to feed an addiction of lust.
She dressed in the style of romantic tragedy.
Her lips were always the colour of deadly nightshade.
Those liquid cold eyes were drills to quench a thirst.
Seen through them; everything was a challenge.
Her kiss was a weapon of biological coercion.
She would always talk out of context;
Words that rip and tear at rationality.
Corruption was her talent; specializing in the heart.
Her smell was intoxicating; sweet yet musky;
An aroma written for late night facades and
Inclined to resuscitate shallowly buried shortcomings.
Her crystalline mind; brilliant and impenetrable;
Sprouted plans and promises more poetic than criminal.
Memories of her envenom consciences
Throwing chaos around like confetti.
She left her calling card; black and red lace ribbons;
Wrapped softly around exhumed promises of courage and catastrophes
Her presence, so effortlessly, dismantled intuition.
There was a catch in her breathing; missing crisis' and fabled immunity;
Lost in the air was the ticking of a battered and broken heart;
Mixed in with the sounds of make-believe smiles and artificial laughter.
She looked the part; offhand and oozing inspiration.
Change was a foreign concept when she was concerned.
Touch was a sense she had mastered oh so deadly.
And yet dead like her other senses.
She's a catalyst. A heartfelt reminder pulsing through him.
Everything she whispers is a secret, twisted and tied.
Each word is a covenant, an abyssal contract to get lost in.
Her silence is vampiric, draining every dream and dare.
"I love you" is said with nothing inside but tears.
She can never get enough.
Her eyes glow, impossibly, with the absence of light.
Exploring the deep, dark trenches of her soul.
Her heart is not in the right place, her chest.
It's moved, kept hidden, to prevent it breaking or a metaphorical staking.
Her essence possesses and enchants with lust and greed
And scars and silences, with uncontrolled desire and anarchy.
Anarchy of the soul.
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Adoration 
