THIS WON’T BE THE DEATH OF ME It’s my fault, I let you in, To mark my skin With naked desire penetrating sexual carnal sin. I asked you if you wanted to come in, Drink a white spirit, o’ vodka or gin. It’s how the tale of lecherous deaths doth begin. We spoke for a while. You made my wounded heart smile. Never did I know your soul was vile. You told me that touch was on trial, My bleeding mind deadened in denial, Arguments born to eat the flesh, so trivial. Afraid of loss in a coffin, We did engage in devouring muffin. No, I ain’t bluffin. #minds