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MISTRESS IN THE DARKNESS Gemma F.

Tiama 27 August 2013 A gloomy Sunday, I am your victim As the bell rings in perfect rhythm One knows and oversees what I conceal All the things, those surreal I entered your chamber, you are asleep And to your dreams I tried to creep Where the moon, my ignorant witness Pours light on my heart thats restless Somebody is stoned, looking at us With knifing eyes coated with distrust Then suddenly I was thrust with lust You never knew, you should, you must While I am under your blanket Blood and tears start to plummet I was being strangled, I was gasping Both your hands I was reaching I fell down, lifeless, broken And left the night unspoken As I strain to rob you from Him I just wounded my life and limb With profaneness, I seduced you Horrid but passionate and true You woke up, remembered nothing And I to myself, elucidating That perhaps there will be a prognosis For those who pity in vain, such crisis Praying that maybe there is something to suppress The heartaches of just being a mistress in the darkness.