Aggressive Perfector*

*from Slayer's 'Haunting the Chapel', 1984


She came along and took it from my hands, the blanket I'd woven for myself.
It engulfed her like blood, like a comfort so few would understand.
She filled it out much better than I ever could have, the bumps and curves in all the right places.

There was something fundamentally wrong with the picture, though.
This was me and what I am. This was building quite a dam.
This was every overtaking I'd resisted for years.

She came along and wrapped herself in it, the crimson cover I had sought.
It kissed every line and ran like wildfire over every single turn.
The body was definately still warm.

There was something indecent about the thoughts I couldn't contain.
This was my last straw of pride. There was no one left on my side.
This was the loss of a fate I couldn't quite make.

She took it off, only to rise again, freed from sanguine captivity.
It fell like the curtain from some show only I could see.
She made it her own in a way that was still foreign to me.

There was something wonderful about the abandonment I felt.
This was me, once again alone, and this was me, chilled to the bone.
This was the fear I needed, and now I'm beautifully unwhole.