In the dark I dine alone with only my demons to keep me safe. Safe, safety from what? From whom? From you? I like to pretend you’re dead, a slashed throat, a necklace of rope. I know it’s a sin to think this way but what’s life without a splash of red?
In the dark I cry alone with only my demons to keep me warm. Warm, warmth a sensation my body becomes numb to around you. Some times I wonder, wonder what keeps you so cold? Whom keeps you cold? Is it me… my love?
In the dark I dine alone with only my demons to save me. Saving me from what? From whom? From you? I like to imagine I’m dining on your flesh , your blood in my goblet and dripping down my walls. I know it’s a sin to imagine such a thing but life is art and I simply chose a different medium.
In the dark I sing alone with only my demons to keep me on track. On track, what track? Which way? It’s coming, closer, closer, closer I can hear it now screeching in my ear waiting for the impact I close my eyes.
And silence.
Sometimes I like to imagine you could had saved me but that’s not how life, how love works. Or used to work, how would I know what it is like now?