Why does your confidence dissolve so swiftly into a broody cess-pit of fear, confusion and corruption when the presence of my voice is admitted through the arched doorway of your elphin ears?
Why does your smile fizzle to a haunted gaze that looks past my eyes to the depths of the death my soul longs for?
Why does your heart eat itself up each night as you drift through the slumbering shadows given to you as a gift from sweet temptress, Valium herself?
Why does your top lip flutter at the mention of my soft, sweet skin?
Why does your mind seek to rapidly excavate the crevices, creases, wrinkles, swirls and ditches of my own private, buried thoughts?
Why does your life revolve around the unexpected and unwelcome resolution to hold your heart away from love, yearning only for pain, fear and blackening rust?
Why does over mean nothing when you kiss me, again, again?
Why do you your eyes search out mine in the dark, through the mist, your gaze rises to the surface of my dreams and inflicts an honest, cold pain that brings a chill to the depth of the sockets my eyes rest within?
Why does my grin receive such chastisement from your own when I smile at the subtle attempt at an ironic comment or critique of the world that continues to exist, though we remain still and silent in our own private room of hell's inner chambers?
Why does my skin, my pores, my entire surface, shudder at the passing thought of losing you from my life?
Why do my feet wander ever further towards the surface of your demise?
Why does my mouth resist the ever-mounting temptation to bite the lips of someone other than yours?
Why do my thoughts reach ever-closer to the precipice, the hanging cliff of your dreams and submerged reality?
Why does the concept of being ever yours for always in time render me so fearful, so helpless and terrified?
Why does your skin warm mine so freely, sending me into the overgrown forests of myself to gather the flowers of your affection?
Why does your voice whisper, nay, sing of meadows that only our dreams may cultivate?
Why does your hair whistle as I clutch at it with trembling finger tips, the rustle being the only sound that realises your existence in conjunction with my own?
Why does your laughter corrupt my heart so easily, reaching the box of morals buried deep within my bones, your effortless giggle unlocking the door to my soul, a door that has never been and will never again be opened by another?
Why does your suggestive glance reduce my knees to a melted pool of lust at the bottom of the stairs, a bloodied and giddy mess of flesh, bones and sexual desires?
Why does the night time release such charisma in your voice, such engagement, such energy that my attempts to resist your seduction are fleeting, foolish, forgotten?
Why does the moon shine on the frank, whitened skin of your transparent and luminous chest, revealing the veins of poison that run beneath your flesh?
Why does your pain come between my happiness and my own, deep and frightened suffering?
Why does the idea of sacrifice come so naturally when your sweet, hot kiss is at stake?
Why do you consume my world, my being, my essence, my taste, my fragrance so rapidly, forcing my body to convulse in delighted, pleasurable poison?
Why do your words, snuck effortlessly past your sly, sharp tongue, transform my dreams into your own, causing our paths to collide violently, with the catastrophic results of a bitter romance residing only within the shadowy remnants of our desires?
Why does your need to control, consume, please, taste and suffocate me render me helpess, as a virgin walking innocently through the Woods of the Wolves?
Why does your soul tempt my feet from the silvered path of worn down pebbles and into the dark and dangerous shadows, inducing uncontrollable ecstasy within my veins?
Why does your blood run through your words, your kiss, your violent heart beat, into mine so freely, as if we were born to be one?
Why is your pain louder than my own within my heart, sould and fleeting mind?
Why do you control me so, cruel master? Why do I only feel blackness when I sit, looking through the darkness towards the light that only your hands can pull me towards?
Why does it hurt so, to hear the whispered utterance of your name, when it's all I desire to hear for the rest of my life?
Why will you never freely mutter the whispered words, I love thee, into my ears without the consuming sense of guilt at owning your heart rushing into my open chest, the wounds irreparably present between my shattered and gruesome ribs?
Why does my soul ache for yours in a way that rips my flesh from my soul, my words from my throat, my eyes from the light, my heart from your own?
Why?
Now, sweet troublesome lover, Riddle me this...
