I know how much you fantasize about being close to my face. I know you dream of the warmth of my breath, the softness of my lips, and the taste of my mouth. You’d like me to leave little lipstick stains on your collar. You’d love to feel the way my teeth makes little love marks on your skin. But those aren’t love marks, my dear. My mouth is not an instrument for your pleasure; it is a tool for my hunger. While you’re daydreaming about the closeness you so long for, I’ll be there devouring you whole. I’ll be sinking these pearly whites into your heart and leaving lipstick stains on your insides. Oh sure, you can come close. This weapon of mine will consume you one mouthful at a time.
