You crave a woman's touch,
You crave a lover's skin brush,
Yet you never adore or respect her,
All you do is lust over her.
You lecture on love,
As though you understand its depth,
But you disrespect her very existence,
Then pretend you know its breadth.
You call it a genuine connection,
But it's just a disguise for your desire,
Hiding behind words, masking the truth,
A hunger that only feeds your fire.
You speak of need and long for her grace,
But what you want is to take,
Not to cherish or honour,
Just a feast to partake.
You don’t see her as a woman to adore,
Only a prize to be won,
And in the end, you're the one to destroy,
What could’ve been, what should have been spun.
You pretend to be “the nice guy,”
But you’ll never treat her right,
You want her to be your conquest,
Not your equal in the light.
So stop calling it love,
Stop calling it connection,
When you only see her as a reflection
Of your animalistic obsession.
Comments
Post a Comment