Scar Death Magic

“Oh, wow”
Every fingerprint is different, I hear
I guess I believe that
But his are razors and I like the way they feel
They sting the same way his eyes do
I think they’re made of cyanide
Turn my dials, push my buttons, graze me with your fangs
“Oh”
Pierce me with your spinal tongue
“Wow”
Bite into the socket and set me on fire
Turbulent sparks and a quiet fever chant metal embryo
I think he’s my god
Ooze into me and obey the moon
He guts me slowly and asks,
“What is this pale green stuff you’re made of?”
And I say,
“You should know.
You’re the one who put me together.”