In The Eyes Of The Villian Poem by Whytnie Scott

She was different from all the others.
That's how I found her.
Tall, thin, and fair skinned;
She was porcelain, like a doll;
Cheeks rosy, lips red;
Her hair braided with flowers.
Smooth, soft skin, easy to touch,
To feel against the palm of a hand.
She's the kind of girl who's never alone.
A boy on one arm, another waiting.
Enamored by all, even her teachers dream.
Living like a nude Mona Lisa in our minds.
The ebullient boys, drooling at her feet.
They're all prosaic, unlike me.
Her dress opines a different way of life,
Creating a fugitive in a fraudulent world.
She stares at me, waiting to be unmasked,
Unsheathed, like the true beauty she is.
A hex is set, all the boys vanish.
Her and me, me and her, alone.
Her dress falls to her ankles.
Should I describe one breast and then the other?
She's soft, delicate like a lamb and I'm Lucifer
On the prowl, hunting, ready to masticate.