What's the taste of blood
The hooded Satan demands.
And you wake up to the noises
In the kitchen--
Your dad screaming at your mom.
You stare at him in rage and
He smashes his whisky glass
On the wall behind.
His hand bleeds, unable to bear
The sight, your mom faints.
You dress him up in a fowl
Mood.
As you washed yourself,
The frozen reflection of you,
Catches your gaze in the bathroom
Mirror. In a fixation-
You lick the blood off your finger
And collapse.
'Ashy, metallic' says your reflection
And wickedly smiles, as
The hooded Satan appears
In the background in approval.