Chapter 8: False Paramours

You make me laugh.
The sins that you craft
Are no more or less pathetic.
You think your bonds are magnetic?
Somewhat – electric?
Confessing your so-called sickly love
To one another – the ones you’re thinking of?

Confessions of your so-called love,
Fools! Believing you’re way up above,
Lost in the skies of your fantasy,
You call it chivalry, but we say it’s jealousy

It’s not love, you unrepentant liar.
It’s commercialised lust, that attention you soulfully require.
We know, I know, everyone knows, it’s all just scam,
We can all see through that plastic plan,

Pretty little girl, flicking her hair from her haloless head,
Licking her lips, flashing her eyelashes – her domain, the bed.
Dry-spell romantic, eager to slip between the valley of her filthy game,
Neither feel any shame!
They have the limelight, the needs soon to be fulfilled,
‘It’s love’ – no darling, love has been killed.

Casanova’s on his way, rubbing his hands – just his luck!
She doesn’t care, she just winks and smiles – all this just for a f*ck
We know, we see,
Where the fall is going to be.

Siren: beauty and voice so treacherously innocent – her queue,
She’ll hover over to you,
Seduce; make you swoon and her lover,
Run – run for cover,
That place is no-man’s land, that melancholy of blindness

False paramours, false lovers,
Greedy and glutton on their hardcover,
She wants fresh meat,
He wants conceit.

Say no more
You filthy foolish false paramours.


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