Of all the crimes and injustices I committed, laws I undervalued, and terms of honour I disregarded, still the throne of favourite child fell on me. Had my facile victory ever degraded your worth?
You carry no moral duty to show me a few of heart-eyes, but revering my capability to slay and be photographed should count as one absolutely universal occurrence.
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Sing me a lullaby, or a story to keep me company. About the most dubious myth to compose my agony, or a blabber upon the way you mock on the downpour that disrupts your bewitching whimsy.
Swarthy unshaven, I roamed right away, crouching close to greet him with the warmth of my breath. That crease slightly parted open, I tilted a little, for I wanted to paint more. Dear, my tantalizing creation.
I found the tip of my fingers dripping onto his drenched locks, with orbs nefariously lied on that chiselled-face; blood stained here and there, but perfectly crafted.
Never meant to encounter any delay, but the trip to another grand comeback didn't come to an ease. A long awaited stage, until you chanted for the show while we were flaunting Queendom on cloud nine.
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Who would bet? Graced with overflowing level of confidence to be well-aware that I won against the split seconds focus you had for the beauty of my bouquet.