We keep a glass table filled with pills and
The shadows of ten candles dance in doom.
I caress her skin and she gets the chills.
What we have will never leave this room.
We pass a bottle and sip and spill as
Music and moans set the mood.
We add an inch to every line for a thrill and
She cracks the windows to see the moon.
We mix drugs and call it a skill.
Then watch as the black roses bloom.
She says she likes the way it feels but
There is no escape from the burnt spoon.
Her skin begins to turn to silk as
My heart stutters and face gets blue.
They say narcotic hills tend to kill but
I look away because I'm already ruined.