Can I bind your hands, bind them to the post, grab a pen knife and make the very most. Another tiny notch upon my bedpost. Can I bind your ankles take you how I want, write about it here in any fucked up font. Can I take your soul collect it in a jar, you’ll spend a lifetime wishing for it back on the empty dying stars. But that’s okay, come on baby let’s play. Can I have your body, touch upon your skin, can I tempt your spirit to some dirty fucking sins. Can I sit upon, oh we both know that it is wrong, but can I take your seed and leave your essence on the floor, then leave you playing there as I walk out the door?
Karen Hayward ©2016