(L*ve's a four-letter word,
by Ballerina With Fins
so, darling, don't you swear)
I'm sorry that I killed you, honey,
it's just that your sweet cold lips
were too entrancing (they hungered my
and your lovely red blood (like
all nice poison apples) seemed to
drip endlessly; tenderly, into my hot melting soul.
It was you that brought me
miracles, honey, it was almost a dream come true;
almost like True love.