I want to own the way you walk,
and steal the way you smile.
I want to tell you when to talk,
and have your heart on file.
I want to cut off all your hair,
and wear it like a vest.
I want to drain your lungs of air,
but I am not obsessed.
I want to photograph your eyes,
and wear them over mine.
I want to fill your head with lies,
and tell you all is fine.
I want to cut open your throat,
and drink the blood compressed.
O want to skin you to a coat,
but I am not obsessed.
I want to shave your eyebrows off,
and glue them to my face.
I want to lock you in a box,
and shoot it into space.
I want to cut your insides out,
and live inside your chest.
I want to hear you scream and shout,
but I am not obsessed.
This is my love poem to you,
I hope you are impressed.
But if you're not, that's okay too,
because I'm not obsessed.
