i have a bad habit of stringing along boys
because i love knowing they crave
the taste of my skin on their
t-t-tongues.

i live for the feeling of
tightening the red rope around their necks
suffocating them with lust.

kiss and tell,
i'll wipe that grin off your
silly little face, pretty boy.
i'll replace it with a red lipstick stain
that you'll try to wipe off
before your mama spots you.

she thinks i'm no good for you;
maybe so, but you still beg for
my poison rushing through your
veins.
maybe mama's right though,
my only intentions are to bruise you,
not to kiss it better.

anyways, silly pretty boy:
i can barely muster up enough
love in these bones for myself,
what makes you think i got some to share
with you?