You are the full moon that has freed me
to rip with claws of hopes rotten
and rend with fangs of passion corrupted.
I roam the country looking to create victims
with ribs split apart
and intestines slashed to ribbons
and jugulars popped like cherries
and hearts dripping blood instead of love in my mouth
(tastes like chicken).
Once an empty husk is all that remains,
I slip inside the skin of the (un)luckiest person in the world,
pretending he is You.