Every letter is red when I've written it for you
Red like my lips and my nails and the stains on my sheets
I feel like carnage and I need to tumble through it
Clawing at you as your eyes register the scene
But I only smile ingratiatingly at you
And push the pen harder to the paper
Where I will quietly slice your soul into hair fine threads
Wielding the most potent gift I have been given
It is the gift you gave me when you looked through my eyes
I have held it close and nursed it like a child
So that now I can plunge it into your chest like a dagger
And you will finally appreciate the horror of being a muse
May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 6:12 PM UTC
Every letter is red when I've written it for you
Red like my lips and my nails and the stains on my sheets
I feel like carnage and I need to tumble through it
Clawing at you as your eyes register the scene
But I only smile ingratiatingly at you
And push the pen harder to the paper
Where I will quietly slice your soul into hair fine threads
Wielding the most potent gift I have been given
It is the gift you gave me when you looked through my eyes
I have held it close and nursed it like a child
So that now I can plunge it into your chest like a dagger
And you will finally appreciate the horror of being a muse
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