Interpersonal dynamics with a radon bomb baby. Burning it straight down to the ground, scream at me like this whole one sided diatribe has become nothing but a song. I hate that our hands touched with venom grasped tight in fists. Cruelty measured in blood ,bruises and spit. Sex without the pleasure and no one ever comes. Where are the guidelines for this shit? I’m no masterpiece and my words sometimes seek wound instead of ears. Verbal lacerations that excite the darkness in both of us until the monster’s out and there’s no going back. Channel that stunner of a mother fucker, find ourselves in prisons far more concrete than the inside of our skulls and with far less forgiving guards. Wasting away, lost to hope and life forever…why? What was gained? I don’t ever dare to ask the other question…what was lost?
Quiver in the tallow as salt begins to pour,
the taste of it is far from clean
and you yourself don’t look so pure.
The muck and monstrous improprieties
have left flavored scents about,
nothing satisfies the lust and varieties so much as going without
In this endless ocean of wanton disregard,
it’s always easier to give in,
then fight as needed and so awfully hard.
Eventually it all catches up
and time will slip from past to present,
you will find your just deserts as it plucks away at your presence.
Never is a long-term thing,
an entity like infinity,
but cast your hopes on it to happen
and likely you’ll find a hoarse voice with which to sing.
Every feel like you didn’t just burn bridges behind you, but rather laid out a remarkably complex series of landmines just in case you wanted to go back and try to repair?