Love him you should not.

Vivacious spirit locked in a body of charm, 

chaos loomed any moment. 

Her eyes locked upon the thespian, 

no one else could have compared, 

to this adonis in character. 

Falsifying images made only for your eyes, 

a publicised good nature, 

the blessings they bring forth. 

A reality that is seeping in tar, 

blackness that erodes all virtue.

Must you believe him still? 

When anguish is simply all it will bring?

Or rid yourself of that poison, 

and be free again. 

To feel that flame kindle, 

opposed to the sting it provides at present. 

But the venom is far too strong,

firmly entrenched in your veins,

digging its claws of corruption deep. 

Escape is impossible.  

Yet escape is not desired. 

Instead wanting to be pulled further in. 

By this cold devotion, 

bereft of attempt at tenderness. 

Empty days are now ahead,

devoid of radiance. 

Childish exuberance mangled, 

into a distant memory of bygone days.

By Rhi Skelhorn

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