“You are what you eat”, or, you are what you rub yourself against in the early morning hours, lick on in a darkened corner, and seek to forget. 

Pick me up and take me to the ocean.
Leave me where the waves break against the rocky shore.
Go home and sit down at your desk.
And speak of us or love no more. 

I have been loved by something strange and it has forgotten me. 

Your hands are coarse, you have stars on your chest.

If that night in Berlin was the only thing I ever got from us, it would still be enough. I was weightless and you were the world. 

You never did read The Necrophiliac. I guess it was a strange gift to win over a new over with. Trust me, it really is a very beautiful book.

No one has been as beautiful to me as you, and no one has looked more like a monster. You appear to me as in visions, and we have walked together in myths spun while we moved, I still see the thread in your hands. You smell like a dying man, you know. Or one returned from death. Is that why you steal? 

"I never loved you," you said. But you see, I know that you did. 

It's my story too.