What is it within this female form that fights so fiercely to swallow the whole wide world. It is as if we, like moths, would go willing into its furious flame desiring only to feel the violent heat upon our tender breasts before our last breath. Small and soft, we once were, full of faith and hope and love; A delicious dream to burn bright and brilliantly; Full with fancy and delicate desire; A kingdom of dreams, elegantly draped like satin sheets around our lovers thighs. We would make a graceful gift of our bodies and bleed a ravishing red, a symbol and a sacrifice. But for all this anticipated passion, our wombs go empty still. Time runs tasteless on our tongues; It rakes and ravages our fragile female flesh until we are desperately dry of blood and tears, and dreams. What then are we to do, when fairy tales don’t come true?

I once fancied you a David, he who would slay the world with one single stone in a humble slingshot. Indeed, like David you are… but rather like he who would murder and cheat.