"I swear I'm an angel," he purred, baring his fangs.

pulsing flesh must be prodded, pierced, plundered and patched back up again with telltale seams, for static hearts rest with the dead.

viscous veins with warm vermillion that whisper of his vile fondness for violent delights.

lining innocent napes with infectious incisions that induce illusions of iron chains.

fantasizing of faux realities strewn with flimsy fractures and flirtatious banter, swore I'd hate you more come dawn.

But like stumbling on a tripwire trail, as a slow fever does hail,
I fell for the god, the monster and the man.