What are you?

You,

abstract monster

a mesh.

Of

cloth,

ever-so-dark,

pale

flesh,

watch it gleam.

All that damned hair.

I

don't know

you or

what you are.

I've hated you

always?

I don't trust you at all.

You bastard.

I'd love to see you dead.

eyes glazed,

bloated,

stinking,

and rotting.

Death suites you.

Peals of flesh,

fall like petals.

Eyes adorning her fingers

(likes heads on a pike)

like bleeding rings.

A satanic puppet show?

Like a child with a bird,

you're crushed

and bleeding.

I hate it.

your death

my birth

was there anything honest about either?

So

now

as I stare down

at your

filthy (stale) corpse

head split

right down the middle.

(after all, that's what makes a good pitch)

I can smell the

shit

I always knew you where full of.