You were freaky as hell.
I remember that clearly, you
stood out like the sorest thumb,
hit by authenticity's ironic hammer.

So I tasted the **** and
ever-so-slightly veiled disgust
you were toting around like some
majestic plume in your ragged cap.

I don't know if it was just a joke, or
maybe you had some intuitive
glance at how freaky I'd be.
We'll never know now,

Will we?

Point being, I wonder what became
of the girl who let spiders crawl
all over her on her bathroom
floor. You still do that?
You dropped signs,
like maybe I was
some kind of
livestock
you were
planning on
cooking up all
for yourself, and
I probably wouldn't
refuse death by feast.
You were a shadow, then.
I think I can see you now.

But we'll never know now,

Will we?