Truth titillates the imagination far less than fiction.
Marquis de Sade
....

I'm a lady killer
sending her through the mirror of life
like a kissing syringe
in a ******* blood ritual
with a long waiting list 
of arched glittering masochists
eagerly she presents instruments of dispatch
as she wanders into my mind
like a drugged eyeball
excited to be comforted by death

im making her wait
not meaning to be rude 
stranded momentarily 
with so much filing, faxing, emailing,
and calling in this cathedral
of the taboo
as i play with myself
fascinated by a soap opera suicide

primping ready to lose herself
in dizzying emancipation
from a wrapped throat 
in sparkling battery cables
and a tormented red mouth gasping
tear glazed for the apocalypse of her depraved lust
she caresses boa constrictor extremities
that turn her brain to froth
and lips numb  

stroking her hair
she dampens at the sight
of rust tarnished daggers
and a black fanged skull
enticing swinging hips
and open legs
in the mood to bleed

a tantalizing appetite wetter
****** hors d'oeuvre served up
like a crimson scar through snow
she whispers how wet you make me

a sponge drenched moon
while we have another coffee
and tippy toe leg show
flaunting her nails painted a different color
like xylophone chromes
she *****-ishly fingers 
the inside of her mouth
and between moistened thighs
while i finish the therapy reports
of blow by blow depravities
after watching Dark Corners Crazy ***** Films
she says"Stupid girl. 
The moment the zip tie would tighten around my neck 
i would take my shirt and ******* off 
and go ******* in front of a mirror 
so i can enjoy the final moments" 

i dress her
in a fashionista silver skeleton bra
stained ******* silk stockings 
and the body bag she so lovingly sewed together
between finger *****
as if having already climbed inside

let me know your favorite room
"bathrooms are hot" 
toilet  head first please 
and leave my *** out to be admired
for a state funeral *******

she was enveloped 
a blood stained **** dummy
in reverie
with a vacant grace, and red oozy kisses
for a mob of *****
at the Gates of *****
begging for savage death rites
knowing how pretty her pose
with outstretched toes
on a black palanquin 
she floats on tropical hemic Vaseline 
mesmerized
whispering  do you like me like this 
like that
**** up banana split
with a blood cherry yoni
and a spoon of gruyere
lick butter

look into my peepers
kiss me tenderly
lose control of your
wet viscous
whipping saliva tongue

then perforate the ******
pierce the ****
open the intestine
she quivers
and spreads like Peking duck
ransacking the brain
editing the history
from grave to spirit box
she thundered like the burning bush
cuming raw,
jeweled 
and glowing roses

I hear your voice inside my head;
Sweetly singing, slowly creaking.
You only ever knew me dead.

It's like you've crawled into my bed-
Never one for needless weeping,
I hear your voice inside my head,

Your prayers I'm sure, have been misled,
For I've been sleeping, never speaking
You only ever knew me dead.

Countless words I've sat and read,
Learning every line, that desperate pleading,
I hear your voice inside my head.

Your words in me have freedom bred,
Now alive, in fear of bleeding-
I hear your voice inside my head,
"You only ever knew me dead."