You’ll let me in.
With thorns growing from my head and fire in my eyes,
You’ll let me in.
Charm will roll off the forked tips of my tongue,
And you’ll listen, for it’s the same shape as yours.
I will outstretch my arm to you, but you won’t be afraid.
You’ll see the familiar trail of paired puncture wounds,
Marching up my flesh towards a space where a heart might have been.
As I draw nearer, your coin-slotted eyes will sparkle with delight.
“It’s as if he’s some great fly, knocking and knocking against the glass around a flame.”
The flame I was made in.
I’ll delicately wrap my crooked hand about your body,
All neck.
As I lift you from your jar, my fingers will dance along the silk of your skin.
They dance to streets of Cairo.
While I hum, a clean, shimmering blade will materialize in my grasp.
My song, leaving you helpless as I press the flat silver of the blade against the roof of your mouth.
Your eyes take only pennies now.
Your moment will arrive, as the song crashes to a halt.
Out come your fangs; they come off just as easily.
A pool of venom will spew across the floor, spilling your only hopes of hurting me.
I’ll dip my knife in the coagulating puddle
Then clean it in the pressed curls of my lips.
There is more poison in my veins than blood, you could not hurt me again.
I’ll set a hook through the top and bottom of your mouth.
The barb holding it shut.
I’ll cast you into a pit of fire, just long enough to sear all your skin.
I’ll reel you back in.
While your scorched body lay, sizzling, I’ll poor whiskey down your spineless back
Just to delight in the symphony of muffled vengeance echoing off the walls.
I’ll conduct its decrescendo with a cleaver for my baton.
One final thud will end the song.
You’ll pry open charred coward’s eyes – that only ask now for death – to see my ****** stump.
I’ll leave you there to read it: written in braille, scars from your dropped pen.
“You let me in.”
You let me in.