So my sweet darling, say it.
Call me poison, just once more
And inject your sickly bitter honey drips
Into the butter softness that will stop your breath

For a while

And here I am, chasing my dragon again
A martyr, at the hands of a God
Or is it the other way around?
For you couldn’t even look at my face

That last time

Yet I couldn’t say goodbye
And I think you knew
I’d be back, waiting for a clenched fist at my throat
Craving to feel, nothing and everything

Once again.

Waiting for the word, the question.

‘Mademoiselle?’


“Religion is the ***** of the people”
- Karl Marx