I do not want the cold moon in my hands.
I do not give a **** about the ice
in your veins.

I want rubies pressed taut against my throat.
Gagged by their sheen, looking down the barrel
of your gun.

Do not waste your love on this shattered soul
I am nothing more than a bitter old
pile of flesh.

At my core I am but a sad, strange man.
I should be placed gently in a gutter
left to die.