Wycked
Searching for the perfect caress,
longing to end this catastrophic mess,
but wanting something to fill this hole,
you made with wycked nothings upon my soul.
I follow thee unto the night,
Wandering helplessly but in spite,
of everything that I was told and 'learnt',
I fell in love with you and I was burnt.
Oh, how I wish the pain would end,
carry me away or to my death send,
for I am weakened by your eyes,
entranced and possessed by your wycked lies.
Brought to ecstasy by your smile,
a love that seems so infantile.
Upon the night-wind my tears do dry,
the relentless aftermath of an adoring cry.
My soul weeps and pours forth onto thee,
Asking a simple, "do you love me?"
To which your lips do so adequately play,
"of course I do," they merely say.
My heart is torn I cannot stay,
into the darkness I must away.
To watch you by moonlight and hope you are near,
as my voice on the wind whispers... "I love you my dear."
