I carried a little black book
etched with pitchforks and pentagrams,
shaved my eyebrows
to create a bony mask,
carved an inverted cross
in my thigh as a warning,
and stuck metal rings
around all my openings.
But my nipples shone
like burning cones of incense,
and you still wanted to lick them,
to hear them sizzle.
And I let you. But after
I doused myself in the shower,
I cut SLUT into my stomach.
It had to be made clear.