I see you.
I see the wasp wings you whisper your lies on,
I see the slither and hiss of your velvet tread-
Snake-like eyes, an empty void,
I see the ice-cold deception that was your butter and bread.
Ah, beautiful you, a fine specimen-
Crafted from the secrets and stories of the times past
A deviled piece of perfection. Dark and haunted.
I will rip your vocal cords and feed them to the changing waves-
Hang you up from the stars in the nightsky
Stuff this poetry, a concoction of words, down your throat;
If all that is heard is silence, was there ever a sound?