It was mentioned to me recently how far this escapade of breathing and fornication has come in several years.
The scars are just soft white reminders of a life since conquered
The tattered leafs of paper once again serenade their forgotten ink-stained lover
This wee little heart beats like it always wanted to...Strong and vicious
The masses have witnessed a new form of serene brutality; calculated kindess
Perhaps the greatest distance traveled is this...
You think I'm not better than you?
I sat in a little cafe
In a little cafe on a hill
On a hill in a town I never knew
I never knew you tasted so good
You tasted so good that night in my chains
Blood dripping from fresh wounds
The stench of sex and paranoia
Permeating my brain
Enveloping my skin
You tasted so good
Licking the tears from your blistered cheeks
I begged you not to go
But your ship had come in
And back to the depths of festering seclusion
You did sink...
So I sat in a little cafe
Sipping tea on a rather steep hill
Dreaming of sex and paranoia
Blood and kisses
Imploding in my little world
Of regret and cigarette burns
The heartache and trials of others only tempts me towards aiding in their demise...
I love violence
And scream like it hurts...