with each word that you speak
i am paralysed with a fear i have never felt
frightened by each syllable because i can never tell if you mean the words that drip like poison from your lips

your eyes send shocks through my body
my bones are cracked from the electrocution of the fear surging in my veins, striking everything it comes into contact with like lightning

you as a being haunts me, your very soul possesses mine and while the horror of what you evoke inside of me is a nightmare coming to life
you make me feel like morticia addams, i crave the fright.

You should have been the soul that Edgar Allen Poe loved,
So that he wouldn't have died miserable and alone,
You are the Morticia to my Gomez; deadly in love,
We would make a quirky Addams family, bar none,

I love the nerds in us and the banter of annoyance,
I love the moments of radiant love and our nature of being different,
'Cause we did meet exceptionally over persistence,
And we accept each other regardless of difference,

I wish that our love will remain eternal,
Narrated by Obi-Wan,
With a theme song by John Williams,
Directed by Lucas, nah, we don't need direction,
I do know, we need a Queen, and that's you my puddin'!
Leia to my Solo,
A Queen-B-lovin'-Quinn to my Joker,
A die-hard Drake lover with a heart for the Dark Side,
This Vader loves his Amidala, xoxoxo,
We would revel on any side but the holy!
May this love never fade, and be full of surprises,
But not the kind where there is nasi lemak with no ikan bilis!
But you make the best **** nasi lemak, sigh,
I'm forever grateful for my Babloo
I'm forever grateful that you're by my side,
My Annabel Lee, I'm grateful Poe never met you,
'Cause you're all mine!

I can't wait
to not live in a morgue.

But I seem to be
all the time.

If anyone is looking for a neck-rub,
today's the time.
Dead guys don't seem to enjoy them
these days.

I miss the feeling of
fuzzy animals rubbing against my leg
and my heart
and all the other happy feelings.

I need to whisper sweet somethings to nothing of importance,

Spell out rose petal kisses up the arms of Morticia Adams,

I need to take  a romantic walk through a graveyard,

Sit in the dark and think of white,

I could always fall up a hill and roll to the top,

The elevator down eventually hits the basement and that’s what I’m counting on,

Pinky finger through thumb, I’m counting.

Other thumb through pinky finger, I’m counting.

Sometimes you have to eat your Johnny Walker and drink your dinner.

Today, cigarettes… tomorrow, the world.

The convenient thing about tomorrow is it still can occur 2 years after yesterday.

Don’t count on it.

Tomorrow, the world… Friday, a whole wheat bagel and coffee.

I think I might garner a relationship with vampires, built on trust.

Turn off the t.v.

Love is a nightlight.

Love is a nightlight…

& we'll
just live,
the Adam's Family
dream-life.

In our
big-black-brick-death-mansion.
<3
Humbled & hardened
by times & all of her troubles.

Spiked with agony.
Splashed with misery.
But I'll love every minute,
of my
dark/******/serene,
day-dream.

You'll be,
Morticia.
&
I'll play Gomez.

No pun intended.
But after-all
aren't we just the replications
of sorrow from a beautiful sight?

Well......

Here's to the
blackest roses
with
the sharpest thorns.

That're long-lost
& lonely
in the dark part of the forest.

Now,
drink the punch
&
die.

I wonder where my little pagan princess is?
No doubt, she's out casting spells,
or getting her nails, hair, and lips painted black.
I gave her a broomstick for her birthday and said it was cheaper on gas than her Saab.
She failed to see the humor in it.
What I wouldn't give to find a woman that dug watching sunsets, The Three stooges, and listening to Miles Davis; that looked alive, instead of like Morticia from the Adams Family,  or some demented funeral
director on crack.

She's got a meeting with the
coven tonight.
I suggested that we get some
Chardonnay, put on some Van Morrison, and make love by
the fireplace.
She just cackled and flew off,
in her Saab, not on the broomstick.

I want what devastates me

Sugar so syrupy sweet it sickens
Red liquid slows and thickens

Black lips painted poisonous purple
With thin lines of strychnine
My fair long haired Mary
Marvelous Magdalene
And terrible Typhoid
Saint and Succubus of lusting frenzy
Draining the core of me

Morticia the Mortuary Queen
With fatal fingers that feel
My moist internal organs
Throttling my throbbing heart

Dear black orchid
Princess of the pentacles
Funerary eyes of fire
Waking Walking Death

Yes she is so bad for me
Still, I want her so deeply