I’ll never be your Lady Macbeth,
But I’ve known the cold love of the deep mask of death.
I’ll fuck your bones clean, but you won’t ever know
the hollowed-out places where all my dreams go.
Your smile’s gone all crooked,
Your teeth are too white,
I don’t know who you are when you come home at night.
You ask me to love you
with cold, distant eyes,
and in each breath of lust I bear
Don’t ask me for truth, and don’t ask me for trust,
And don’t say that I can; don’t say that I must.
I’m the heat in your gut in victorious dreams.
I’m the blood on your hands that