The Mind Of A Feverish Wolf

Something is ticking back into the wood.
Billowing out from behind a mask.
Ivory chocolate laced over my face.
The words scrolling like the atmosphere.

I see you, the way your head cocks to the side as it always does--Like a curious birthed bird.

Wouldn't doubt the fact you hear me.
How you couldn't look in the woodworks to see pinholes.
That filthy pig O' mine,
like the posion penetrating my very--Raw, raunchy word here.

Intergrating loose hips against the saddle.
I ride you all the way down the rabbit hole just to watch.
A slender smile creeping over my features behind my hair.
To know that you linger,
makes me want to hunt and prey some more.

But--Alas poor fallen pretty birdy,
the feathers ruffled in my oil and intentions;
you see me sitting there silently across the way.

That grin I seem to no longer hide from your confusion.
When I stomp my boot on your fragile, crack riddled, chest and snicker;
taking one last thing from your boiling body.

Sanity.  

But, remember, darling, dear bird, I'm a liar;
how can you believe any word I'm saying?

Can you tell if I am telling such pure truths from my heart,
or lying out of the darkest parts of my blown brain?

You can't.
Let's keep it that way.