Offeret av Kjærlighet (Love's Sacrifice)
Why are your eyes leaking? Let me be your plumber. Why is your mind hurting? Let me be your aspirin. Why is your heart showering mine with a rain of crimson hatred? Let me be the plaster, let me heal our wounds with the cloud we sit upon in my dreams of endearing perfections. One of my personalities tells me in retrospect to forever put out the piercing flames of the woe-begotten memory, but for what purpose? Says I, the organism of low magnitude. The fire of memory, it seems, cannot be put out without the aid of another cooking utensil- he who I dream of, he who is my ebony prince and I who be his ivory princess.
Wounded is he, beyond ivory vocabulary, by same ashened-faced whore, the split of the two. Separate is she, yet blinded and bound, locked away in a tower of long-hated jail. Ivory turns to mahogany, deep, rich mahogany red as repentance for her crimes but my prince hurts increasingly as I, kindred of M, turns redder still. Why does my prince hurt so? Let me be his safety net to catch him as he falls through the torn canvas of his illusive mind. Stitches cannot heal the canvas but can help mend the pain a small amount.
The stuffs dreams are made of- laser-powered tyrannosaurus rexs? - are not what is in the box... But the box shall stay closed. No intervenance from daughter of Lucifer shall corrupt nor shelve the accordance of events in maybe just a pinch of manic infestation of hatred. I wish I could travel between H and J to lay my eyes on my ebony prince one more time, my eyes would salivate for all eternity's losses to see him one more time before my insanity diverts my ears to matters of lesser circumference.
So let me be your plumber, your aspirin, your plaster and your ivory princess. Let our cloud protect us both and let us run free, ebony and ivory as one forever… Jeg elsker De…
