Alice

I loved her.

A heart of warmth and divinely defined curves; her face is a light of innocence, craved into an embroilment of an enigma within an enigma. Her love is infinite; a luminous wave of all aspiring hope in her chest and digging into the wounds of bitterness, merely instigating for a fight. Her hands are searching for warmth; any warmth to radiate off of the sweet, sweet flesh of another’s, beckoning for a gentle embrace. It was all a tease, tickling her being with the throbbing rhythm of her heart. Her fingers were blistered from the thorns of deadly, mischievous roses which ached for healing, abusively smacking her will down and jabbing her heart to absorb the love she has, to become nothing more than a hollow shell. Her two feet stand on a forgotten principle that lacks meaning to what she fights for anymore; broken was her heart as well as her soul. Her lips are tender, but sore from all of the lies her tongue has beaten out of the ginger gates of all human order. Torn, blood runs down her lips, neglected and bruised without a single clasp of love in return. Eventually, innocence fades as corruption takes it’s place. She was at war. A war that cannot be seen beyond the doughie eyes of this well presented individual; it was hidden by the casts of shadows and barriers built, she will not be made a fool once again. Her heart will stop as her body shivers and quakes, but no one can stop the fuel driven which created this madness. No one is to be trusted, not even herself. She will hurt other’s the way she was hurt, without realizing she became the boogeyman she has always feared and protected herself from. 

Author's Note

Any feedback is nice.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Honest and good words shared.
"She will hurt other’s the way she was hurt, without realizing she became the boogeyman she has always feared and protected herself from. "
The above lines is true. The prey one day will become the predator. Thank you for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote

[Nessly]

You depict the beauty and pain in losing innocence. Great job. Do you purposefully write your poems without form? It's well written.