In the thick pitch-black habit of defective mates,
muted lights appear like brilliant sunrays.
So we all settle like the cheating wealth at court.
Bitter, saturated stones press onto my nerves
and that fictitious heat ignites my nape
Like cocaine-rubbed gums, the mouth is stoic.
It becomes effortless to believe your deception
And you fancy my soul for your hunger
My dirt-cheap soul to procure
in exchange for that short lived sensation of
desperately desired devotion,
even if it is barely for an instant.
No comments:
Post a Comment