"Confessions Of A Cynical Romantic: Part One"
...the infatuation before intrigue.

I.

I want to be simple.

I want to dream my dreams in black and white;

See the world with darkened eyes;

Black-rimmed, raging, and hollow

Rather than delicately tear-stained.

I want to live the angst,

Drown in the fierce contempt

I've been told a woman of my experience

Should have toward the world.

I long to scar my heart with the remnants

Of a jagged bottle

And celebrate my emptiness.

I want to be ravished

With the unceasing gluttony of love and hate

And passion,

Finally becoming wise enough

To recognize the difference.

I long to sob with tears unlike my own,

Blood-red and violent,

Without once seeing them turn

To the beautifully shattered fragments

Of a perfect flower, immortalized.

I am consumed with need,

Ready to bury myself within the cold, unforgiving earth,

Tear my face with briars and

Dare the world to call me beautiful.

I ache only to be at one with myself,

Tranquil and absolved;

Without flesh, without form,

Without feeling---

Pure, unadulterated

Simplicity.