It was sick. But it was how she coped. She was his.

Passion infused in his lips, he was

Electric in his tongue

Lust and liquor leaked through

The air between our parted lips

"Don't think, just act." I was

Possessed solely by my instincts

Prince Charming had died, this was

Jim Morrison, a living piece of art.

His grasp, suffocatingly tight, clenched me now,

Yet my skin still yearned for more of his touch

He had two very different hands, one for

Each of his selves

See, his right hand fed,

But his left hand beat.

But I didn't really mind, because

After all, his right hand fed. 

I could hide my wounds. 

I could hide my wounds.