There are hooks in you
I am only fickle finned
I cannot swim fast enough
To gash my mouth onto yours
Because-
There are games in you
A hunting sport
A terror red ravaging game
You relish it as the juices drip down your chin
There are hooks in you
And I am only fickle finned
Pulling me into you
Teeth and claws sharper, gashing deeper
-Secret pleasure in the raw raw flesh
There are rumours shrouding you
Bullet words hurtling through my skull
Plumetting through leaves, through everything I know
There are hooks in you
And I am only feather winged
I cannot float fast enough
To embed your bullet in my chest
Because-
This is a game to you
A hunting sport
A biting, sinking, blood filled game
There are hooks in you
And all this hunting, swelling, biting
All this heaving, sweating, fighting
All this terror, flying, swimming
All this hooking, shooting, chasing
Does me no good,
For I am fickle finned
I am feather winged
And this is a game
To you.