Past bedtime

If only one could derive,
So much comfort,
From scars that don't heal,
A few utterances later,
Drawing circles on a sheet,
Attuned to each other,
There's a dim curve on your face,
I implore you to help me with the laces,
There you are,
Gleaming at me,
Dissecting the weary lines,
Pulling out a grin,
But now you're hollow,
An abrupt restraint..

The emptiness feeded upon you,
Stole a bit of motion from the box,
That throbbed inside me,
If only you would spring back,

Infested with moths,
The stench engorging the doubt,
Your eyes don't speak,
They lay waste to the rot..

I smear my love,
Relishing the decay,
My tongue splits,
Through the shredded lesions,
Sucking on the bloated drying lips,
The skin cracking to constriction,
Filling you with passion,
And my uncouth indulgence,
Consuming your numb orifice,

Ain't it messy?
But don't you worry,
I've licked and now sorted it out!

Distorted by the frenzy,
Every morsel of my being,
Ravaged by the relentless march,
Of desire,
Burying nails,
Clawing underneath to satiate the urge,
Resting my head besides a desecrated womb,
Pillaging the remnants,
You're ripe, you're mine,
If hindsight had a name,
I would've been screaming yours,
With every twitch of your still pulse.


The emptiness feeded upon you,
Stole a bit of motion from the box,
That throbbed inside me,
If only you would spring back..

Grannie,
I wonder if you would now,
Tell me a story?