Everyone loves a woman—
until she starts to consume it all.
Her shadow devours the walls,
her presence sucks up the air that calls.
It’s her hair,
those perfect strands,
like blades that cut through the day’s demands.
It’s her laugh,
that pierces,
that digs,
that drowns and swigs.

She doesn’t know...
She can’t know.
Or maybe she does.
God, of course she knows!

Her steps echo,
a drum in my chest.
She’s so good.
So precise.
So abhorrently inhuman.
Who smiles like that?
Who walks without weight?
She’s a monster in disguise,
a titan in a woman’s state.

And that charity, please!
It’s a mockery in our face with ease.
Every gesture of hers, a blow to my bones,
her triumphs,...