"The Victim Culture"

A reflection of certain people I used to know.

And Honey is as Honey does, she
is a sterile petri dish; she is a
spit-bonded home away from home,
for debutantes, and for cannibals.

And Honey was a hive to them, a
place to hang their hats and blow
some wad -- a house, a hearth, a
tenderloin of "Catch me when I fall."

And Honey was an alchemy: a sun and moon,
an oro and an argent; she was slack Mercury, a
potpourri of doe eyes and offal tears, and
a Please Please Please and "Here I am."

And Honey gives good head games, and
Honey is coming in loud and clear;
she is spitting sweet and sour
nothings into my one bad ear.