you claim that there is golden powder dripping from the edges of your fingertips like pixy dust,
you can make me beg for your touch,
but i try to resist
the man above is just a pretty delusion for us to hold on to something so bitter and sweet

i laugh at your tales
because in my mind, you will never curse me like you did those other girls with the pain or your love,
we're both immortal when we're together,
the devil and his mistress is what we should have been,
two angels that couldn't redeem well enough to see peace,

i like to think that i'm special to you,
like i am the only one you want,
the only one you look forward to seeing,
but we all know when you promise me something,
you giving me your airy words many time,
you have your fingers crossed behind your back,

i'm wondering if michaelangelo has finished the canvas painted on your body with ink, because my lipstick stains just don't do the trick anymore

your hands are not golden
they're charcoal
cold and dreading
and you're making me filthy with every touch so get your hands of me and leave.