In Cherry Red

lacy, have I ever told you that your skin is like puff pastry?

pale and pretty, though my envy is more ghostly

I want to eat that skin of yours and live as you instead;

is it sweeter out there? or just as salty as me?

do you live without wishing to wake up in someone else’s bed?

the glamour, the streets, your eyes

did I truly win if you earned achievements I once held?

sometimes I wish I could witness your demise

just to meet you in the same fiery bottom where I melt.

once my lips are stained with your favorite shade of cherry red

as I’m eating, munching on your flesh

will I let my greed take over my head?

will there be something left of the girl I so wanted to possess?

I will lick your beating heart not to savor your taste,

but to relish in the pulses of fantasy that I deified—

glistening stories about someone who I barely read about and yet, still chase,

and when I’m tired of running after you, can I sip joy from my floor that’s already blood-dyed?

I do not want to end your life, I only wish to take it;

steal that pretty face of yours and keep on living.

but to do that, there’s plenty of evidence I must split—

I need to hide your bones and flee the scene.

and when I finally wear the beauty that I skinned off

along with dismembered pieces of you as a necklace tied,

I wish the dripping blood on the beads is something others brush off,

and I deeply hope that my insatiable hunger will finally be gratified

despite knowing it is an impossible dream,

I hope your blood doesn’t trickle on the stolen crown I wear;

for those who’ll see drops will meet a truth that even I cannot bear.

would i still know how I taste,

once I’ve filled up my stomach to the brim

after feasting on your grace?