I look at you and can’t place you name.
An error of judgment has made that primrose smile wither.
I can see those fangs still growing.
An annotated preface couldn’t define it.
You speak with voracity, yet it yields no resolve.
The jaded signals flare like windows in the sky.
You collect bodies with guile, yet it heals no pain.
The new dirt will only verdure for a while.
You’ll peek over your shoulder and rile.
