The Anarchist

A poem I wrote a while back... I wrote two others that go with it, but I don't think they're as good. I'll post them on here eventually though.

Her eyes are black as death,
Her hair is searing flames.
Her voice is sharp as knives,
Her smile is bright as the moon,
And her angel face exists to haunt you.

Her soul is woven from your darkest secrets,
Your deepest fears,
Your most hateful wishes,
And your most selfish tears.

She's a wild tornado,
Leaving nothing but destruction in her wake.
She's a rampant rumor,
Planting only seeds of distrust and hate.

Her beauty is cold and twisted,
Yet tempting, oh, so tempting!
Her dark whispers, like snakes,
Slither their way into your thoughts.

Who is this nightmarish demon,
So beautifully evil?
Who could be so heartlessly destructive,
Yet so hauntingly lovely?

She's the poison apple,
The tainted water,
The forbidden maiden,
The deathly spindle,
And she lives inside of you.

Do not fear, for she can be tamed.
She is but a prisoner of your will,
Your hope,
And your love.

She'll struggle against her bonds
And taunt you with her alluring whispers of doubt,
But never let yourself be swayed,
Never let yourself go,
Or the anarchist inside of you will take control.