"The Plight of the Lady of the Night"

The world has been painted a violent scarlet, in such tender brush strokes.

A cardinal color indeed, but may I coincide of which I must heed.

They say it wrong, but I must say not so, for it must go.

Oh how wondrous it was, it filled me with such joy, oh how cloy.

Fingers that I say had been once shaky, steadied with a blade not in the least heavy.

Why so wrong? Why so stomach churning? Why so head turning?

What fills me with glee should by all rights fill he.

Maybe though not in the same tense, for he has lost his sense.

Do not turn your head at me, for he enjoyed it as much as me.

He asked for it I tell you!

Do not patronize me, it was mutual.

His cries were that of passion, not so in the other fashion.

Please enlighten me, for it was not a sight, nor a fight.

For I was the lead, and he paid the God given fee.

A God indeed, above the law, but unfortunately not he.

He is below for he must give back of which he has sewn.

So as I once said, Officer, what has occurred was not no crime.

For I am not the grime.

He begged for flitting touches, as much so as the throes of thy hand.

One would think it would be I, but nay I say, for he defied.

Thy knife was his life, nothing of the strife.

He praised the cuts, for it was his lust.

A lust that could not be acquainted to enough.

So, Officer, as I once said it was not I at fault, for he was not a victim of assault.

Assault is of insidious intent, but I had nothing to vent.

Money speaks many melodies, for he prayed for a remedy.

I, the merciful being available, would never dare turn away such a pitiful creature.

He praised my grace... as well as the lace.

Why must your eyes narrow at every word? Have my words not been heard?

I am not crazy as you are lazy!

Step away! Begone foul creatures!

A God does not answer to miscreants, what I did was a mercy.

I will not be cast away, for your lot.

His cries were worthwhile, as were his lies.

Back away! Be gone! Blame he, not me!