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.