She’s only beautiful to you when she cries
When her ruby heart is crushed in the fist
Of your apathy
Bleeding for one whose own heart
Is nothing more than a cold stone

You only love her when she is at her most fragile
Her most delicate
Like the trembling flower on the stem
That threatens to fall apart
In the wake of your furious storm

She is tearing herself open for you
But you just smile, content in her discontent
She chafes against the shackles of her despair
Longing for something she has never had
Something you refuse to give

Just when you are wondering how much sorrow it will take
To sate your black need, your dark desire
She half turns, neither toward you nor away from you
Her face, wreathed in tears, is beautiful in her indecision
Drawn to her suffering, you reach out to her

And the vicious cycle begins anew
Her ruby heart beating against the cold stone of your own
You delight in the way she has come to depend on you
The need fluttering in her eyes, alive
She’s only beautiful to you when she cries.