My rouge dahlia, my bottled basilisk. I need you, like my husband's lips need the vengence of the arsenic. I need you like the sweeping of a miscarriage needs to meet the fault of a candy-heroin-slut-drug-addicts knocked-up belly. I need you like collective trailer trash spilled upon perfect marble floors. I need you like the back of a hand across my face. I was wrong to have the sweetest intentions towards you, I was wrong to trust you. I was wrong to expect anything more from your hands than my name, crushed and worn out and over-used between the merciless and self-fulfilling plague of your knuckles. I can't get enough, poison me. Poison me until I wake up bare and naked in the the empty and unmapped prarie of your lies and deception. Poison me with such talent that I miss the feeling of your nails dig targets into my back. Your nymphs shall pierce faithfully the arrows in my foolish spine. I deserve to be beaten, I deserve the penetration of an arrow. I was such a fool.

But please, lie once more for me. Tell me it was all an act and that you would still like to share my heart. Lie. Tell me you need me. Tell me you can't live without me. My knees will buckle. My eyes will be a throne to the needs and cravings I've owned for so many years. The blades of your tender grass caress my skin once more. The beautiful lie comes undone in the frost, trapped in the stiff dew of a chill morning. The soft touch stops, the grass no longer moves, and the gossamer is spilled across the back of your hair.