Codependence, or a soothing bedtime story about love, by Mother Goose.

You stare at me and your eyes glisten like the red wet throats of crows. You know me, and your understanding goes deep. A slimy knowledge, visceral. Once, you even had your hands buried right up to your elbows inside me before before you realised that it was the warmth of the compost heap on the skin of your forearms, the heat of the gas chamber. When you ripped yourself out of me, soft gobbets of meat and sinew clung to your hands. I could smell my skin prickling, and hear the sound of slowly-smouldering electrical cables sunk deep inside walls. And I know my dreams will be far from sweet.