Pure. Lucid. Evil.
Everything I do.
Every thought I have.
Be it towards myself or others.
All I touch turns black and shrivels to nothing more than dust.
Or worse it turns to stone; stuck in time as a preventative measure against myself.
I don't want to hurt you.
I will anyway.
You will try to tell me I'm worthy.
You will tease me with promises of forever.
And for a second I will begin to thaw.
But only for a second because when tomorrow comes, you'll be gone.
And still, I will be made of ice and knives.
The smile lured you in.
My laugh tripped you up.
But my touch is what trapped you.
You're no different than the last.
I will tell you my story-- blood, sweat, and tears.
You will tell me I'm beautiful.
In the end, you will be just a photo in a box.
A memory suspended in a moment.
Because I am too much.
I will always be too much.
I am a woman.
A wicked woman.