I am not your slave and I don't love you

please come in.
i won’t bite,
simply whet my appetite 
with whatever foods you may bring 
from the dark winter garden of night. 

what’s that smell? 
is it fever? 
spreading deeper? butter-hot, red as the
flame-drips that bred the black
sin in the hearts of believers. 

you’ll find my crown on the head of a creature
and my name on the lips of the dead
i am speaking of dread and hunger
do you know hunger?
precisely. 
it needs to be fed. 

please begin.
i won’t interrupt. 
drink wine from my cup and eat from my table.
perhaps you are able 
to stomach what once was corrupt. 

it has a taste:
misbehavior. 
no saviors here, just fare to be swallowed,
bones to be hollowed;
for rudeness yields exquisite flavors.

you’ll find my crown on the head of a creature
and my name on the lips of the dead
i am speaking of dread and hunger
do you know hunger?
precisely. 
it needs to be fed.