I am not the Devil I take me for,
A paranoid wad of feces,
Has become my mind,
I face the future with a blank stare,
As idleness caresses my hands.
Fear is my only betrayal,
To this woeful heart.
I wish to care, and to accompany
Each tear that descends,
From each of your delicate cheeks.
Beloved beauty! I am here.
As fear has become my Manhood,
What do I do with it?
Console me, as I desire it,
And lead yourself not astray
From my trembling form,
I do love you, despite my silence.
My love, my angel, my everything…
I would die to know,
What you think of myself.
To pen and to paper,
I write these things, though I’d always prefer,
To draw my sorrow on your porcelain form.