It Was More Dangerous Not To Go;

I Took All The Blame. I Admitted Mistakes I Hadn't Made, Intentions I'd Never Had. Whenever She Turned Cold And Hard, I Begged Her To Be Good To Me Again, To Forgive Me And Love Me. Sometimes I Had The Feeling That She Hurt Herself When She Turned Cold And Rigid. As If What She Was Yearning For Was The Warmth Of My Apologies, Protestations, And Entreaties. Sometimes I Thought She Just Bullied Me. But Either Way, I Had No Choice.

The More I Suffer, The More I Love.

There's No Need To Talk About It, Because The Truth Of What One Says Lies In What One Does.

But Then She Was Not Awkward, She Was Slow-flowing, Graceful, Seductive - A Seductiveness That Had Nothing To Do With Breast And Hips And Legs, But Was An Invitation To Forget The World In The Recesses Of The Body

We Make Our Own Truths And Lies....truths Are Often Lies And Lies Truths.