In the event that all vibrancy, suspiciously dies,
Curtains close, and piety shines,
Will you stand there next to me,
Reciting your precious incantations?
No, no, my darling,
You are merely a fool.
Inside the cold brethren earth,
Lowered with such regrettable exhaustion,
Would you sit there patiently,
Consumed with blood's worth?
Of course not,
You were merely my tool.
In the darkness I fear,
They will stab at my eyes.
But would you even dare,
To hone in on these crimes?
They spun your heart like a spool.
I am the blood,
Smeared all over your perfect canvas,
Doused in a mortal potion,
You would not care to mourn my demise,
You fed off of my once present lies.
I am doomed for eternity,
To smother in my own relentless thoughts,
Coagulating, like the scab on the earth that he is,
Continues to become the paternal parents,
To something taciturnity.
But more importantly,
I wish to you, my friend,
A life full of wanting,
And a life full of dread.
It's simple to gawk at yourself,
And stroke your own artificial skin,
But you are an ugly soul,
Bathing in the muddy ignorance,
of your own sin.
Sometimes I ponder,
If flowers will grow through my rib cage,
But then I remember,
Flowers cannot grow where the soil is poor,
You have acid rain in your heart.
Listening to: Carrion Suite: Andrew Bird
Reading: My Own Thoughts
Watching: The Inside of my mind
Playing: The game known as, "Life."
Eating: My own sadness
Drinking: Blood Cells