The Martyr

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stock-photo-the-burning-woman-head-profile-94516309His voice was liquid fire,
Burning, searing, scalding hot
His touch was silver, pure ice
With wintery Chills n thrills, I suffice

His eyes were luscious, shiny n brown
Staring in them, I happily drown
His laugh was the dangerous rumble of thunder
N id lose myself in all his splendor

His words cut deep, sliced me like a blade
Drawing back, I continued with my serenade
I watched his contempt like burning rocks from the sky
I watched them bury my dreams, and slowly I die

I rose to his voice, burning me awake
I followed his breath, mere smoke in his wake
I watched him beckon, promising forever
I fought with myself, urging me to scream “never!”

I saw him as I did, glowing bright n luminous
In all his glory, in all his ruthlessness
Drawn to him like a moth to fire
I smile happily, ready to be a martyr

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