Hollow ghosts wander the halls.
"Is there anyone there?"
Faintly echo,
"It's love!"
Say it three times into the mirror,
in the dark,
that is if you have the guts.
This specter,
rattling chains,
is a total perversion of everything you hold dear.
"Answer me! Who's there?"
"It's love, love. It's always love."
Why does it always end up this way?
Blood on my hands, and in desperate need of a warm cheek of the fair sex.
"You just haven't looked in all the right places"
It's the wrongs that make me feel so right.
We're all sadists at heart;
Because if we loved love,
We wouldn't make it hurt so exquisitely.
There would not be these apparitions that stalk the night and crawl into you dreams.
Your bed will always be haunted,
a four-corner cemetary where you lay your head,
where the spirits of lovers long lost, and never had;
pump their spewing intercourse into your head.
I've left many a twisted carcass in my love affairs' wake.
I'm not asking for kindness,
just a little more give than what I usually take.
"Is there anyone there?"
(silence)
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Submission Name: Don't You Know We Love The Perverse?
