And the beauty of the damned
left her inimically enamored
with romantically idyllic condemnation,
grasped her pretty little wrists
and wrapped its lies about her hips,
leaned down to whisper in her ear
but she listened with her lips,
because she never stood a chance
against temptation.

And the beauty of the damned
held her accountably indifferent
to realistic expectations of perfection,
wound her weakness through its teeth
and tied her ankles to its knees,
pinched her throat between its ribs
'til she fell dormant at its feet—
she only wanted sacrifice
and safe dejection.

And the beauty of the damned
gave her disastrous repercussions
as she ceased her compromising respiration—
it snatched her up into its jaws
and rent her spine with crimson claws,
in juealous anger it insisted
none would ever love her flaws,
and then she drowned in compromise
and desperation.

And the beauty of the damned was hers to carry.