The flies have begun to swarm me as they always do.

Gran says it’s because I’m sweet

but I know better;

they seek my rotten core.

I am a book under gilded cover

with the pages all maimed and bloodied;

some angry child tore at me

when I cut the fingers of the *******.

I am thoroughly interested in becoming your fiction of choice.

Fiction: because I’ll lie to keep you

happier than you deserve.

My prerogative is to capture you and let you go

as soon as you’re dependent.

I’ve always adored wrecking pretty things like you.

I am the sound you seek,

sharp on the mind like the buzzing

of the lights in your office

that no one ever fixes.

You yearn to dream because in your sleep

I am a petal-soft and lovely thing

that will coddle you like a miracle child,

my hand caressing your little baby face.

Then comes the jolt of awareness

and you find my fingers at your throat,

squeezing just enough to scare you a little.

I need you to know that you are mine and that I own you.

Your youth is the light that flashes in my too-large pupils.

I swear to God I am going to eat. you. alive.

You lovely creature.

You gorgeous, hypnotic thing.

I will crack you open and drink you like life

and you will learn to beg for the sensation.

Now is when you should run, pet.

-S