It was a trance
And you molded her to hate and forget.
That crack on the thin ice still hurts like her birthday.
Baby monster, absent to consequence and fear and now with a growing tail from a temporary spell.
Some do harm to harness love and market their passion with hatred.
You managed your vengeance well and did not care to sacrifice her candid heart, as long as mine would be broken.
Baby monster, instrument of despecho-pushed to open, lifted to handle blades and make emergency exits.
That heart now pushes to survive and forgive you, baby monster.
A sluggish procedure because it needs so much self-repairing.
But that heart believes in love elsewhere now.
In a kingdom of no more chances nor toxic revenue.
© 2012 Franck de las Mercedes