Pyramid Head tore my skirt off

1.
so does he have a head under his helmet, or snakes
rags or fungus?
coiled, black, or lick-damp paper in tiny? It hurts.
He looks sad. Dry lipstick; that is exactly
wine soured in a mouth. The lightning
there is actual lightning outside, shelled purple.
What’s under the butcher apron? Small teeth?

2.
so I snapped around a thick wrist and bit off his fingers.
He reared his hunched head swayed a foul rich taste in my mouth,
I swallowed whole into my deep broke and carted into around me.
We faced until the siren, he left for grey alleys, my stomach hurt all night.
The next day I let him take me home
he looked hungry as a dog does when you hit it with your car.

When we first did it his hands swarmed.
Once when we were fucking he killed a nightmare
ripped and swung against the wall
holding me on him moving steady.
He’d stay with me cross-legged crushed waiting for the siren, I pressed back
for days at a time pressing.

I guess we’d been dating a long time when the city ended.
I dragged him up a tall hill on the hill on grass I heard the sound of helicopters.
He started to fade, he didn’t climb off me,
when we heard the helicopters my hips kept pumping
into sunlight into nothing. I was violently ill
when the sharp military men landed,
I couldn’t stop crying at the small bones that came up.

3.
so I am in the real lands now.

The pyramid helmet I threw my head against when and when
I never even saw him below the helmet.
I don’t imagine fucking the pyramid but I imagine thighs must be strong, his feet must be

very dirty, I want that spidery
all over me. It’s such a bother when a person turns out to
be a whole person.