An imported imperfection of his delayed conclusion of opinions leaves me restless.
I know I may not be the prettiest, I know my body may not be the fittest.
However, my heart remains the same, his love pumps blood into my veins.
As I start losing mental ability to my brain bleeding heavy quantities, my heart start hemorrhaging.
Blood vessels begin tearing up from my emotions, my eyes swelling.
His words burn like melting plastic, nonmetallic his compassion is synthetic, as lovers turn platonic.
It is hard to comprehend his love presence, when there are no immediate surroundings of his love emotions.
His actions are making me feel less of a woman, and very unwanted.
His presentation makes me hesitant, from the way his love is presented.
He is evil and ever so gentle, but he says he loves me.
He does not understand what his action does to my inner emotions.
Wretched in sadness marked by misery, embedded in love poverty he does not care how this affects me.
This is his way he shows his love for me.
Marinating in promises I get his love like an allowance.
He says that one day I will be his wife, so I stay in hopes of his change.
Again, he tells me he trying so who am I to complain.
A mistress of his love I became, I will not be ashamed for his love I pertain.
His love I can relate to, his pain I persecute and oppress as he overall abuse.
Pharmaceutical kind of love overdosing as a drug, I am his side effect I learned to suppress hold my emotions back. Like if, his words caress.
As I stroke his ego, I become humble. My pain is a ritual I know the procedure.
Mistress of his love I remain even longer, and I linger.