Anticipation scratches away at your mind,
As a self-inflictor might scratch at his skin.
He isn’t comprehending the situation that he’s in,
But you know. You can see it in her eyes. 

He stands in crucifixion position,
And you watch with no expression,
No emotion. Nothing but reflection,
Of what goes on between the two.

She reaches out and her masterpiece is done,
Colour runs like wax from a candlestick
In lines straight up and down
And you think: Pinstripe skin,

And so you hang, chained to her by your lust for blood,
Never forgetting the gruesome massacre before,
She knows you’ll always be in want for more.
She knows you love to see the blood pour.