So my sweet darling, say it.
Call me poison, just once more
And inject your sickly bitter honey drips
Into the butter softness that will stop your breath
For a while
And here I am, chasing my dragon again
A martyr, at the hands of a God
Or is it the other way around?
For you couldn’t even look at my face
That last time
Yet I couldn’t say goodbye
And I think you knew
I’d be back, waiting for a clenched fist at my throat
Craving to feel, nothing and everything
Once again.
Waiting for the word, the question.
‘Mademoiselle?’
“Religion is the opium of the people”
- Karl Marx