White lace cascading to red, frayed at the edge of the tablecloth at teatime

With small jet black tea cups to ornately decorate and crowd on the dime

The bowl of sugar brought over to you by a hostess like an alabaster mime

Watch her guide your frail ensnared hand as she sundered off a single finger in rhyme

using it to mix the sugar dying it a divine red velvet coating like branches of crimson

Pours seven into your cup reaching to the handle to tie a glimmering silver ribbon

You reach your frail hands to the cup ignoring the pleads of bleeding and crime

You now notice as your greyed hostess reaches for your head whispering a chime

She takes a pair of pliers to gouge out a single eye taking it to let it float and slime

You curl in need you can see with your remaining eye her just waiting just pasttime

As she takes your spoon for you fishing out your lonesome eye as its veins climb

Cradling it in the spoon like a sickened newborn As if she is a mother sublime

She gently holds your jaw open to roll your eye into your open maw nauseous bigtime

Her cold gentle smile act like this is normal forced to swallow and forget this lunchtime

She keeps spoon feeding your blood ridden tea with her graceful smile and vision

Leaving you chained there she seems to swoon after watching your blood quicken

Her smile starts to grace you see her draw on your neck like a painter in their prime

With that calming peppermint coldness that she claims her own in the grey dawntime

Licking up the spoils of your injuries ignoring the thought of foul parasitic grime

Even with no day or night it’s always teatime for you in an endless bloody enzyme