Our reality forbade me from kissing your lips And stroking your hair with my fingertips. All I could do was hold your hand When I traveled the distance to a different land Just to see you for a quick little hour And I gladly took that power.
How I longed to know how you kissed And a touch of a man, oh how I missed. How much it pained me, you have no clue, To not be able to cuddle up with you. Sitting across from you, my mind slowly would drift away And all we had for memories were conversations from day to day. ...
Presented with a choice I could sit and revisit trashcan memories, the ones that suspend me at the waters edge, where trees grow apples that are rotten to the core A place where cracked mason jars filled with dead Lilly's are the prettiest things to look at
I could sit and watch my battered heart hang by a noose wrapped with parasitic growth amongst twisted limbs that lie naked and starving waiting for your return
I could dwell on the vision of your mouths open to fornication unable to stave...
My feet skitter out of control on tiny pebbles towards the black edge for a moment before sheer determination to stop finally wins. I get an uncomfortably close view of a deep, dark chasm whose depths have only been explored by an unenviable few.
This expanse I call the obliviating grief of betrayal. Broken at the distant bottom are sweet assumptions and innocent inexperience with the black truth of sold out birthrights. Down there with them are the bodies of fathers and mothers. The ones who couldn't stop at the edge of it all and took the plummet, too.
You deserve to die but you don't. You deserve hate but reap only love from the naive. Great tits, nice ass, pretty empty face. No one cares what either beats or decays beneath. All the necrophiliac lovers romancing your corpse, handing flowers like unto a grave.