Rapture

In blackest night and brightest day, she stands within the background. A shadowy figure watches my every action, following like a bloodhound. She whispers to me in quiet moments, her words sink in like claws and teeth. She will be my rapture. She is beautiful and powerful, a veritable force of nature. She harms all she touches, the most heinous kind of traitor. With sickening tentacles which wrap the mind and grasp the soul, She will be the rapture. She has been there for me when all others have left, resolute and unswerving. She has held me in her loving arms, her wretched form unnerving. She blesses me with creativity, Yet she has been the rapture. I wither and wane in her deadly arms, each time dying faster. She beats me like a slave and kisses the bloody wounds, an ever fickle master. So when my body is found and my blood has dried, they'll say I took my life. But she will have been the rapture. With crooked fingers and bloody maw, it has wrought destruction to many a mind. It cloaks itself in beauty, its true nature hard to find. It will tell you that it loves you, and you will learn to love the pain Because it is the rapture.