“You knew I was going to say something to you, right?”
He spoke, his brush ever so gentle on the mend of my chin.
There I sat,
Staring at the man before me whose poised words had caged my apprehension
At the very sound of his voice.
I was plagued by my ever growing sentiment;
Devotion had its hands curled around my heart and tightened it’s grasp within each second.
In the swell of my inclination, it had fogged my mind, misting my eyes to blind the veracity that his spirit held.
He had chained me with pellucid iron, bending link by link back until my hands were behind my back, holding my mind in them, my dignity.
For he had not induced harm upon my skin for those to dwell upon, he had not discolored the hills of fairness or welled a warm scarlet from my cover.
Yet he strummed through the strings of my soul, dragging his nail behind him, tuning the conscious to feast upon his venom,