I draw blood and trace the same old scars. I come with teeth barred and ready for a fight. I'm dangerous and still, coiling into myself time and time again, scaly flesh scraping against scaly flesh. Eat your heart out, Freud. I'm no monster in disguise just a sad sad lonely lowly little girl crying softly in the corner with the ghosts of ropes burned on each wrist. I taste venom when I spit and lick pus and blood from every one of your wounds. "Don't let her get in, don't let her sink in," you say to yourself and it's working - you've almost made me the enemy. But you silly boy my dissonance runs ever deeper than yours. After all, I had myself believing that I meant it when I said in a throaty whisper, "I love you."

And I don't mean a word of that. I check twice before saying those three fucking words.