Tied together the strings were snatched,
a witch of which her heart detached,
the locket on her sleeve yet broken in despair,
love is true; always rare.

Love is a lie,
nor fair,
a cut this knife deep into my skin,
say a prayer I bleed and then begin,
I pray to god forgive thy sin on a sinners thought,
the decay from your words in my lungs as they rot.

I die another day and wake anew,
fresh on my breath the name of who,
who is distraught to keep the wisdom of words,
this knot in my stomach it churns and churns,
******* behemoth burn, burn, burn!

I die another day and awake to anew,
dead room doubt I held my breath then blew,
I sought another perk yet hiking up your skirt,
I crawl a blade up serine within,
inevitable and diabolic,
blood boiling up enraging and oncotic!

Harlots are one to come and blame,
no walk,
no talk;
you live in shame,
just another breath left from my tongue,
another puncture wound left in my lung.