So charity lay your head down beneath the dogwood tree and summer sun.
I hope your eye's serve their purpose, by god I'll swear to that.
Forever penned in blood an incision, carved across my back with ink driving through my skin by needles design all for you.
She came with tattered wings so vile vomit poured from my mouth.
My heart still moves inside a glass apart from my chest resting amongst other jars lies the lungs that are absent from breathing.
Oh how I cared for her.
Fists full of contempt, eyes wild and searching for a reason or simply the ghost of my soul.
And if this were a dream I'll remit and dream of you and I in suffering. |
