The White Knight

The White Knight Intrepid and sly. Has a screw loose. Aptly, Rattling, obsessively. Somewhere, In his shattered avatar. He believes that he is a god. A god of women. Of needy goddesses who are full of holes, curves, dips and lips. To fill. With white. Of course. Beautiful promises and lies, morph like thunder flashes, and showers of fireworks shot with fear and pain, screaming, burning evil. He'll lick their pain to get the licence to bed them. Over. And over again. It's not consensual. Without. Truth. The couch. The basin. The carpet. The bonnet. The pathetic whimpering. The controller waits in silence. Believing. Becoming, The toxic messenger. His alibi. The dark perpetual screaming one. Surrounded by demons in negative blues. The grim reaper possessed will dispossess him. Over and over, As he dispossessed her Over and over. The game they play. To throw others away. The sociopathic discarders Survive a disguise of lies To help you From imperfection, To dazzling beauty With a final plunge Into destruction Deftly manipulated to engender guilt, suicide, And feed deranged ego's. His joy. Her happiness. Never amiss. His bliss. Her switch.