all sorts of wrong

Her eyes are pits of endless azure hell
to reflect the curse that is writ on her
I know every unholy inch and tell
the story her desperate wrath incurs.
Love is a hoary beast with forty hearts
I've stabbed each twice with my silver cleaver
that gory truth made up of nasty lies
and blood spurted from that cold deceiver.
Damn me, she would not die, she would not fall
my heart beat hard, and all my dreams revealed
inside the yelp of fear at her footsteps in my halls
where steely words that I love best concealed
boyhood wishes for endless perfect her
beside the hard wet place my feelings stir