The warmth of the sun reminds me of you
The undeserving rain that you bring upon as when we fester
awake in the sleep that we have crept into
The hands of the ground are searching for limbs to tear
I am waiting for something quiet
for the whisper that I know you are found in
The lips speak of liquor and razors
narcotics seep from my pores and I am left alone
"To be honest is to be one man picked of thousands"
I seem to have lost my honesty
Help me attach to what is true and make it my own
Death has come in the shape of her figure
with lips made of arson
not even arsenic can save my soul from Hell
I speak in metaphors because I am afraid of my own truth
Afraid of the mirror I have been staring into
Burn this down with the napalm in your veins
My rubies have lost their touch
My gold has lost its shine
My tin is the new currency
My God save me
No comments:
Post a Comment