The anti-Christ sits on her bed jealous and scared.
Her blood red hair fires thoughts of prehistoric passion
Gems align her dark in bedazzling arrays of love & lust.
She tells me how much she aches for deeds to be done, but motivation lacks within.
I rest cross legged before her, smiling and pondering on the meaning of life.
I came to her in the middle of the night & now it’s half past evening.
Thursday’s downpour continues at the entrance of the cave
I cleaned her room in fits of boredom, God had ventured too far away to beseech.
Her name is silent, for I can not tell you the secret of my desire, though she is beauty & I miss her when she’s not around.
She’s plucking at her nails & I’m lost in space.
Pictures of the past decorate her home.
My perfect match in many ways.
A vest of innocence drapes across her delicate chest, beads of hope lie delicately upon her bed of hate.
I kissed her once, in a land and dream far, far away. I was younger then.
But I returned.
For the stillness of my life request constant feeding.
I ache for her.
I’m hungry. & tired. & stolen. & lost. & I ponder how I can seduce her now.
But the anti-Christ doesn’t care. She gives no love.
All woman perhaps, with the beauty of her youth intact, but cruel.
Like every woman I’ve ever met. Dishonest & brutish in the realities of the day.
& so I sit estranged. My beautiful, delicious, fresh, young temptress bathed in red.
I hold her hand & I know my limitations. For this is as far as I go.
Blissful girl with braided locks destroys my heart & the whispers of the storm ride high & circle
I love her. But she does not know.
I want to taste her.
But she is now far away.
~ thoughts of the golden one turn to fate.
© ed simkins 2015