Blind Love

Fallen angel and the broken heart;

In a search to find the pattern, break it and complete life.

I find him amusing, like the quick sand.

I couldn’t have described that feeling with greater accuracy even if I tried for hours at a stretch. 

His squirms and squishes away as I try to develop trust and weigh his loyalty.

He is adamant on being the nice guy at the table that he forgets to be a human first.

He wants the pot roast and all the hearts but at what cost?

Why couldn’t I see through this?

What are eyes for?

Do the people near him know the real him or is it enough to swim at the surface- for you live once and happiness be it momentary, is the key to a tomorrow bare minimum?

I break out into hives every time I sit down to figure him out or maybe when I remember his touch on my throat.

The thought of him still manages to toughen the food being swallowed and make it an achievement, even breathing.

His  piercing eyes and engulfing smile still binds me like a helpless girl with Stockholm syndrome.

I haven’t met a guy more addictive than the devil or should I call him an Angel. For the devil too was once an angel. 

Why couldn’t anyone see through his layers? What are eyes for?