i've offered you a glare twice and you're still down on your knees with a lone red rose on your hand. you seemed to persevere my savagery. still not getting weary of pursuing a cold-blooded woman who was rumored to be a harlot. and whom in her due course has deliberately murdered hearts even of those "rare virtuous individual" they've said, who vowed to eternally offer their faithfulness but have truly engulfed their lewdness behind golds.
i wanted you gone in my sight, and so i shove you with my troublesome behavior for you to take a step back away from my shadow, and just despise me forever. yet as hapless as i can ever be, you consistently won me over my own doubts. except merely by the fact that you caught me off guard not by obscenity but with courtesy and respect. you're ever considered as my dearest dupe, although i now concede that you're indeed a man of his word, you're still a complete witless young boy compromising his entire life into an utterly destructive and uncertain state of affair. still, who wouldn't love the idea of tasting a new plat du jour? and vanquishing another match between an innocent man aiming to hit on a scheming target; who's intending to get hold of another fragile heart to crush -- 'though i'm not really so sure of that, 'cause my conscience might make me refuse to do so.
it's the third week of december, seven days after your rejection from me has slipped away yet you're still running after my enigmatic intent. now you gradually pull me closer to you as we sway our hips and move rhythmically to music. and strangely how i relish this particular night doing stuffs with you that i never am qualified to come across: i can audibly hear that beat on your chest, despite the saccharine filled lyric of a played song that i used to appreciate more than those random men i dance and slept with before; falling into the smell of your aromatic manly scent and having lost for a moment in your stares.
for a moment, i let my desire to feel this long hidden affection dominate my sanity; have given my own for the last time a euphoric sense of living briefly - and as you lean your lips nearer to mine, the clock strikes 12 which made me push you far from where i stood. only a glimpse of your smile i chose to bury within me, as a souvenir that this phase of my lame story have given me a chance to truly acknowledge love.
"time is up, monsieur. the game is over, you lose. you can never conquer the heart of a woman who have already lost her soul." lie.
an overwhelming distress is visible in your looks. nevertheless, i shall not manifest what i genuinely believed i felt.
"more than anything, i want to save you from myself." for an impure woman who transmits affliction like me should be in a dungeon, distant from you who deserves a righteous damsel.
