You know I don't love you.
Still, I can cut your face off with a kiss;
scalpel tongue, lips sponging up the blood.
You don't know me. You never did.
It doesn't matter how far inside you've been.
The spear may be for the stabbing,
but it doesn't bring anything back.
This is the story, boy:
we're, all of us, only ever good at one thing,
so let me be the predator,
because I've seen what happens to the prey.

11/09/2004

Posted on 11/10/2004
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