Scornful Mistress
Eyes that glitter like the purest diamonds, with lips that spit black smoke.Furs draped upon her shoulders, but the true claws are her own.
Who could that be there? Hiding amongst the frilly wardrobe on an unsuspecting wife. A raven-haired demon, with a grin of pure spite.
You think you own her heart,
But not all that glitters is gold.
When you leave in the morning, you're left with nothing but a hole.
How could she be so heartless? You ask yourself with disdain. Well she isn't. She just knows the game.
The game of love, seemingly so pure,
Is a game for fools, or so she adheres,
To the thought of a poor man's heart stirring over her.
All that glitters is gold to them, but to her, the gold is liqueur.
(i made this real late, it's like almost 3am here, but @Inquisitater inspired me to start trying poetry again.)
