Your ruby lips parted in devious malice,
To reveal the shine of your pearlescent smile,
That had always reminded me of the handle,
Of an ivory knife that held tight to your tongue-blade,
That was used to slit his throat,
Leaving him sputtering and dying in your hands,
You tilt back your mineralized osseous tissue skull,
Barely covered by the duvet of your flesh,
That hangs like draperies from your clinking-clanking salt-white bones,
As that fat, lying toad flops from beyond your teeth cage,
Where it should always stay until the end,
As you cackle madly like an old fish-wife,
Your words slide deep into his veins,
The way the needle slid into yours moments ago,
Injecting a sugary sweet neurosis into your soul,
That would eventually seep from the pores on your skin,
Causing you to smell of failure and desperation,
When you begin to withdraw,
How is it, succubus, that you live with yourself?
Do your stardust irises glitter with such magick in the cracked reflections,
That it bewitches even you into believing that there is something,
Left to love about you?
For if so - it lies...
Your vapid skull bleeds thoughts from your ears,
Flowing down your throat where hands should choke the life from you,
The way you choked the life from him,
When you wound your words around his veins,
& tugged with all the strength you could muster,
Leaving his innards strewn far beyond,
The pale, white flesh,
That had been severed from your own...