Will you take this prize
flecked still with dew.
If chagrined,
I, beholder of
virtue.
Will you be surprised
a network of scares
etched in marble.
So delicate,
I, lace maker of
dreams.
Will you see the lies
become interwoven within me.
Too pure,
I, Icarus of doves.
Will you hear my words
behind the broken porcelain.
Stolen vows,
I, bearer of false
vanity.
Will you witness the maidens perfidy
reflected within my eyes.
Treacherous wife,
I, raped without
touch.
Will you take this prize
hold it dear to you.
Damaged goods,
I, virgin of the
ring. |
