I hate the thought of you
Content without me. And so. And so.
Sip of my name and let your tongue
Weave a knot of such intricate
Design none could conceive of
Severing the you from the me.

When you hear my vacuous voice
I need something to spark in
Your dull, shallow eyes. A glint.
Spite. Distaste. Fear. Desire.
Feed them all to me, bless
This withered, voracious frame.

Festoon me in your favour,
Wreathe me in your revulsion,
Just do not pretend that
I am nothing to you or anyone.
But mostly to you. Do not dare
Pretend that we are nothing.

I hate the thought of you
Carefree, no Harenae draped
Across your every waking moment.
So I will not let you escape.
Choke on my name woven in your throat.
And I will consider tasting yours.

Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Miraman, in the year 890 AF.