God's curse

Slipping through your skin—we're two bodies at one. I'm a bad woman; I'm a mad woman—a treasure chest buried when you love harder. We'd dip skin to skin deep in sleep under warm sheets, share the same soap, and wash in one bath. A battlefield of intimacy. Angelic eyes, unearthly lips; out of genuine curiosity—I am of a cursed daughter—a black sheep from my mother's womb, a troubled kid from my father's fist. Lady of the Moon, would I still matter to your eternity? I'm afraid to be skin as a waking nightmare; with these hands used to slaughterhouse, your delicate must not be touched—but then no other stroke could gentle my palm as your fingers. 

                                   Fluctuating truth and ridges of symphony—imperfect melody.