And I am him whose horns grew inverted, that entangled our tales forever in an affair interwoven beyond paradisical orchards

The blight that slithered pass omniscient’s stares and poisoned the harvest, that withered the vines on her posts due an audience

She takes shape underneath the schisms into chasms nightmarish, illuminated with the hellish of long ago a being of cruel truth

I’ve made her mouth a cacophony of worldly bitterness, a cornucopia of sour fruit through raged snarls and gnashing tooth

What I spawn is a crimson dawn as deep as the colour of love and roses nestled next to a blushing cheek, housing a warful tongue

She’ll cradle me to her heart like a orphaned child, yet I the guile to possess a grenade upon reaching a sanctuary of embracing arms

And even though I am not the one that has wrought such irons as grave as…