My Body a Portrait for Lies Part Two

The unknown is the unwanted, though I have seen heaven in my dreams, I feel sure that it has cursed me.

The dreams are never the same, but they always end the same, with my death at your hands. You never touch me but just sit there dressed in darkness with a white collar and a face that is never in focus.

You sit between two white pillars and three white lights shining feebly above your head.

I die in vain, without love, without hope, brittle and valueless, forgotten and alone.

My lips breath upon your bosoms hoping to endorse my feelings of my own vanity and life's sufferings you uncouth peasant. Oh how uncultured your body is against my own. I plan to cultivate you in my own image so that I may lay with myself and need not fear.

You are quite disgusting, but you serve a purpose and peasant, I will cast you and your memory aside as I feel fit. But for now may I spit at you whenever my throat is ready and secretly know your love for me will remain unbroken, untarnished.

My baby that grows within your bloody womb may feed from your left bosom, for your right bosom is reserved for my boyfriends lips, lips that dwell beneath my own.