Upon the withered
there was a tree,
up high above.
Let me feel your love.
As I tie this rope,
an art. Around your body.
Where many have hung.
Let me feel your love
as i choke from up above.
Hung by my own feet.
This is what its called.
A slow death is my blessing.
Your love feels like bliss.
Jun 18, 2020
Jun 18, 2020 at 11:41 AM UTC
Upon the withered
there was a tree,
up high above.
Let me feel your love.
As I tie this rope,
an art. Around your body.
Where many have hung.
Let me feel your love
as i choke from up above.
Hung by my own feet.
This is what its called.
A slow death is my blessing.
Your love feels like bliss.
