Craving

darkened corridors,
red-tinged rooms
from where she sees the things she sees
beyond the fringes of the gloom
that is her imagination
beyond where she runs free
where the feel of his touch unmans her,
where the sound of his voice lets her be
whoever she’s always wanted
behind every closed door
where she’s all-around perfection
or his own personal whore –
but always with her consent,
it’s the one card she holds
but beyond each open door, a crack
where others see only the lies they’re sold.

Via Daily Post – Craving