That Girl is Trouble

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Could we come home
all dressed in red like bull fighters who wanted an easy way out
and reminisce on how beautiful your blood is
spilled out in a secret pact that will pull all the stitches back together
like your grandma’s favourite blanket
but innocence is wolf drawn 

So, don't put on your pretty face unless you want to be eaten alive
instead sit by the fire and put both hands up my top
or count your fingers with my teeth
till we are no longer lambs or easy prey
for a black hearted boy outside on the longest night of the year
who you know will only forget your name

You look like you've been itching again
I look like I’ve been looking too much
into the mirror and seeing wax work instead 
too hot and melting all over the work books you were trying to keep clean
a perfect fit, puzzle piece, in the back of a closet full of your skeletons

Twisting, burning touch. Obscene,
self flagellation, the bite of entwining 
hideously clawed hands until we turn red
dusting away a space between us
for where you might choose to rest your head
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