The love he showered upon her has become a curse. She can't forget him , neither can she forgive him his decision.
The intensity that sparked the relationship remains but the partners shrivelled in their shells of human intentness and a sociology of caste, creed and myths.
The myth he believes in and follows yet when it comes to him he continues his spam yet when it comes to her he invokes societal pressure and his conscience.
He can say and be what he wants to; but when it comes to her, she ought to be pure and true. Her true self showing but his lies intense and perpetrating foolhardy at his own fakeness not withstanding. What double standards!
He is allowed his mask but not her. Why?
The Intensity with which he showered his love upon her; where has it gone? She waits for him to realise his mistake and return. He waits for her death. For she has seen his vulnerability. A witness to his real self. He can't let her escape his bloody claws yet stares deep down her heart to vilify her.
Her love for him shall remain as words for all to read. For her love was true and stands true even today. she destroys herself each moment dying a thousand deaths in his memory.
On the path to destruction she only finds more hearts ready for her intense love; she thwarts them all, waiting for him, pining for him is her fate. Her fate is the coffin she sees in her dreams ; made of deep red roses and white lillies. She smells death every moment ... she whiles her time waiting for death.
That is the intensity of love .... destroying what belongs only to him for him, in his memories. She shall die with his name upon her lips and tattooed on her heart. Her embalmed body waiting forever for him to consign her to flames.
There lies the beauty, the Beast of night confined her, chained her in his love , stuck to his name and deeds ; she lies there stoic in her silence yet words speak volumes in her statements here.
The intensity of love ... miles apart yet so near. Two hearts living yet dead forever.
The intensity that sparked the relationship remains but the partners shrivelled in their shells of human intentness and a sociology of caste, creed and myths.
The myth he believes in and follows yet when it comes to him he continues his spam yet when it comes to her he invokes societal pressure and his conscience.
He can say and be what he wants to; but when it comes to her, she ought to be pure and true. Her true self showing but his lies intense and perpetrating foolhardy at his own fakeness not withstanding. What double standards!
He is allowed his mask but not her. Why?
The Intensity with which he showered his love upon her; where has it gone? She waits for him to realise his mistake and return. He waits for her death. For she has seen his vulnerability. A witness to his real self. He can't let her escape his bloody claws yet stares deep down her heart to vilify her.
Her love for him shall remain as words for all to read. For her love was true and stands true even today. she destroys herself each moment dying a thousand deaths in his memory.
On the path to destruction she only finds more hearts ready for her intense love; she thwarts them all, waiting for him, pining for him is her fate. Her fate is the coffin she sees in her dreams ; made of deep red roses and white lillies. She smells death every moment ... she whiles her time waiting for death.
That is the intensity of love .... destroying what belongs only to him for him, in his memories. She shall die with his name upon her lips and tattooed on her heart. Her embalmed body waiting forever for him to consign her to flames.
There lies the beauty, the Beast of night confined her, chained her in his love , stuck to his name and deeds ; she lies there stoic in her silence yet words speak volumes in her statements here.
The intensity of love ... miles apart yet so near. Two hearts living yet dead forever.
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