You read my heart like it was hate speech.

You heard me talking and it sounded like the cracking of bones.

You saw my tongue and saw it coloured from licking blood from the sickle.

Monsters write poems about such banal things.

Monsters climb mountains at midnight,

and as the clouds swallow the sky

They make no promises to the moon.

I stand here evil.

I would ignore the willy wagtails.

I would bathe in blood

If it meant I could live

in the rise and fall of your breath.