I raise the whip;
thy tears they fall.
A spiraling dance of beauty and grace.
They caress the lips
of my gentle doll;
in love, not romance,
the blood stains her face.
I bind you tightly
like an embrace.
You know I'm right:
This is your place.
Next to me, by my feet.
Patiently, this defeat.
Only sweet, no bitterness
mars the conquest of these years.
To hold my dream is utter bliss,
and from your face your tears I'll kiss.
It's true that through time
I've changed, and once I would have warned you off.
I felt unbalanced, and deranged,
but now my old fears, petty, scoff.
I raise the whip and in your cries
this demon grows white wings and flies.