The Pleasure

To what do I owe the pleasure,
My dear and wonderful friend,
Of your visit by my bed tonight,
At this very long day's end?

To what do I owe the pleasure,
Of your sinister yet friendly smile?
It is strange how this life goes sometimes,
So won't you stay awhile?

To what do I owe the pleasure, 
Please, won't you have a seat?
For my mind is weary and my concious dulled, 
After the world took my soul to eat.

To what do I owe the pleasure,
Of your smile made up of teeth,
All rotten and drenched in blood from gums, 
With your cleft and clever tongue beneath?

To what do I owe the pleasure,
Of the horrible glint in your eye,
As you carefully wrap your arms,
Around my body as I lie?

To what do I owe the pleasure, 
Of your lips wrapped around mine?
The maggots pierce thy blackened skin,
And render my pains benign.

To what do I owe the pleasure,
Of the parting of this night,
Into the deep, abysmal hell, 
Of the fires that always burn bright?