*sometimes rhyming, sometimes not*
Sour notes from a severed windpipe,
A graveyard requiem.
Blue falcons perch on rust-silver gates,
Smoke is the veil of a gemini moon.
My lips are pearl grey.
Yours, white-gold, molten against my own.
Track-marks and tombstones, mark my
Words and my hardening veins.
Hit after hit and I
Don't give a shit
About the dead girl in the mirror.
Your fantasies are full of chains,
My collar ties me to the grave.
I'll stand beneath these crimson rains
And gamble away the innocence
You cannot save.
My heart is pulversised beneath
The grinding stone.
The rain subsides,
Now I'm alone.