The Rape

Merry, you may be.
 For I am the flesh in your tounge.
 Create to yourself, images of these
 Glass-eyed figures,
 And expose to me, your skin -
 Whorish as ever.
 They speak to me, your pores, your veins,
 In a rush of melancholy.
 In a stream of misantrophy.
 Remove the carpet, so I may be
 United with the shades of these.
 Blind my eyes,
 Still I will see - presence, visuality.
 I grant you my pale hands,
 Still I will feel - shape, contoures.
 Please leave.
 In me you wont find any pity,
 As the dog that howls for the light in my eyes -
 The stench or your nakedness, no smell for a mourner like me.
 So, please leave.
 In here you won¥t find any pity.
 Tour kisses were as hell itself.
 Be silent, for I am the flesh in your tounge.
 Only I can wear vast costumes of time, and still be present.
 "So, hereby I rape thee."