She might have been the death of you, but baby, you killed yourself.

Your imagination has been held captive, it's created something that dances on the tip of your nose ever so gracefully. Unable to keep your eyes off her, you give yourself a headache concentrating so hard. You tell yourself you'll be okay if she goes away, but beyond your self assurance you don't know what you'll do if she disappears.

She travels to your eyes, slow enough to make you shiver, and you close them only because she asks you to. Her soft hands caress your eyelids, her touch reveals her yearn of your blindness. She prances to your ears and whispers lyrics you've never heard before, it seems as if it's a lullaby intended only for you. Her presence washes away all doubt that ever existed. You then realize that your eyes don't need to be sewn shut to experience only her and nothing else, but it makes her happy and you'd be visually ignorant forever if wanted.

She slides down your neck and stops at your lips. Her slow moving torture should have been an easily recognized warning. She parts them with her highly addictive fingertips and slides inside. Before you even have a chance to gasp, move, or open your eyes, she's in your throat and no one is there to save you.