ManicWorld Magazine

You gaze at the dry well
that I wish to avoid completely.
Cherubic to you of course,
you love innocence lost.
Speech like bitter honey,
a child-like voice and doe eyes.
You see lips stretching
to form a polite gap,
a hole for you to fill

And what if I bite down?
Should I chew and spit skin?
How would you live then?
You’d spill a bloody mess, yes, and
I’d huph in disappointment
although it would be a simple fix
when you’re thickened on my floor
I’ll do it I’ll do it I’ll do it

You wail, melt, gasp and grasp me.
I ogle, shriek, cackle, pray.
I’ll scrape you up later