Her Last Valentine

Young Girl in her youth asking gently a question:
Oh, what is that card for? – some kind of obsession…
So long parents told her no word about loves,
But once she grown up from their cautious charms

Therefore she found thoughts ‘bout adorning and smelling,
She slept before mirror enjoying and telling
Herself in incipient succulent whisper:
He wouldn’t resist me – and breathed like a whistler

No one could remember that girlie she was,
She had little age still, but this judgment was false
When in case of her beauty the battles began…
Firstly, He – was the One, then – they all just a men

She screwed them like nails in dissolute bed,
Bit by bit forgetting, what actually meant
That word, which so many of He told to her,
Well, she could spell it, what else? – nothing more…

So, what is that Love they are talking about!
She shouted trying to hear in rebound
Some part of the sense, but reflection was clear,
She looked at herself in astonishing fear

And nothing she gained... On the Valentine’s Day
She found herself amidst letters astray,
A pile of paper and writings on it:
Beloved, I love you, In love for… FUCK IT!

She laughed in hysterics and danced on the floor
So, what was that card for? Say, what was it for?
You tamed me, you had me, you bonked me, what then!?
You ran when I loved you, I damn you, I damn!

She cried until drain, scratched skin with her nails,
While past window shells were walking love pairs,
Remembering, suddenly she spoke His name:
Her childish dreams felt like been stabbed again

A slumbering still life, Danse Macabre girl
Took one of the letters to put end to these all:
With love come to death – and the sign under line,
The painting of blood sang Her Last Valentine…