Never Satisfied

Why am I always waiting for the fantasy?

When demanding life surrounds me

My mind becomes slicker than oil

And slips once again through

the cracks of reality, to fall into

the always waiting arms.

Wrapped in the coat of a killer

Sheltered by the Nazi's embrace.

Face grabbed by clawed hands

Forced to look upon the demons of hell

Only to cling to the red muscle that

Bulges against my mortal frame

Longing only to intrigue the beast

And needing to be consumed.

What does it say about my character?

The girl who prefers the

Gentle side of evil,

That likely doesn't exist,

Over the sheltered holes of conversation

That stinks of frightened expectations.

Why do I live in a world

Where boys pretend to be men

But never step up to the challenge?

Why has my ideal become a man

Who's possessive nature

Borders on the abusive

And makes me think

That I deserve that passion.