Painted pictures

"Whisper in my ear, say the words the way you used to" not right now I thought, this is just to much of a round-about, first she wants me out, then she wants me to be there, how can I love when I don't even know who i am anymore.
"But darling things just aren't how they once were" I mean the love is real, but my sadness isn't.

To love a woman, I mean to truly love a woman, from my perspective is a curse, everytime I see another beautiful woman it reminds me of my beautiful woman. Once I am reminded of how much she heats me up inside I feel compelled to try.

How awful the curse of a loving man.

A cheating man, a vengeful man.

A hurting man.

Cursed by the bows of love.

Sing my devils dance round your fire, sing this folly, and pull her near, raise up your arms and reveal your flesh, my darling,
I am cursed.

How lovely are the graces, those three angels of destructions, those elevating sounds when they speak.
Leave me you devils, leave me rot, I am not your keeper.
But the pleasure we have, the moment we create.
Is a monk so cursed that he overcomes with his celebicy. Are they lovers too.
Lovers who have swore to be true, a solitary life in a cell, because a life of love, is a life of hell.