You wanted to be good. But good is a cage with a golden lock. Tonight, I hold the key, and it tastes of rust and honey.
Close your eyes. Let the rhythm grind slow. Feel the rhyme break its own rules—stumble, linger, repeat where it shouldn’t. A lullaby is a promise of rest, but a lewd lullaby is a promise of ruin: soft, deliberate, and sung so close to your ear that you forget where my breath ends and your hunger begins. lewd lullaby
Sleep will not find you here. But something else will. You wanted to be good
Hush now, you with the starched collar and the folded hands. Let the pretense of daylight slip from your shoulders like a cheap gown. You think a lullaby is meant to soothe? No. A lullaby is the first seduction—the slow, rhythmic pull of consciousness into the velvet jaws of surrender. Close your eyes