Their darling souls, He does not take For it is only their hearts He wishes to save And so at night While they lay asleep, He reaches inside And takes every piece Only then satisfied, He will be With their hearts His trophies Reattached and fixed On display  In a glass case Right near his bedside He smiles as he admires Each one Because he knows They can never deny him The love He so desperately craves Ever, again #poetry #horror

attrition   seventeen lacerations on your tongue  and the bruise on your achille’s heel.  it bubbles in the corner of your mouth, parasitical, invincible,  the bullet through sedgwick’s head,  the knife kissing caesar’s thigh.  the ceasefire immediate, justice honored, and iron painted on the back of your teeth.  a word for each hash mark:  they hang your best friend in the street and when his tongue falls out,  it is clean.  they say you are brave when you do not cry but the