Have you ever danced in a place where the walls pulse with secrets and skin bleeds truth?
High acidic nights full of tail,
you pointed sharp manicured nails.
Each stab drew bubbles of fresh blood;
the Candyman bathed in the flood.
Elephant-sized speakers triggered;
lip-synching mirror-boys lingered.
Candyman’s needles ached for meat
cursed by demonic droning beats.
Rumours of someone else’s pain
injected deep into your veins.
You dined on the fresh fears of youth;
no twink could bear to hear the truth.
Toxic blood ran thick from the young;
the Candyman’s eager tongue stung.
Enchained in a Tina induced state,
the Candyman grew in the hate.
—H, bitten by the beat that never stopped
