its not auto-immune or viral. It's dead butterflies sliding down a spiral. a cascade of blood parades down flesh to tile. What happened to the smile? marching orders through vacant aisles, walking through hell a wave of sadness crashes, drowned in my own ashes eyelashes melted to the rims of my glasses, tied to the track on my back the train passes. Caught in the web of a vengeful arachnid. eight arms of harm spin me outta control no alarm to wake me i'm fuckin out cold. a choke hold and a broke mold, my soul was sold by an asshole whose sole intent was to kill me slow with a blindfold, now im too old to see what's been left of me. picked to pieces till my heart ceases, a wrinkle in time fills with creases , stitched to the nines for death seeks us. and i seek it. my bloods on the wall next to the sewing kit. It runs free through the alleys and prairies alone in a cave with a pile of dead canaries. Stand back mr reaper, my fate doesnt scare me.
I stare through a glass vase upon led painted sill, my body is shaking while the world sits still. atop the rain drops i let my blood spill.
No comments:
Post a Comment