I want to **** the purgatory from her veins,
And remove the God smitten, soul killin, Angel fallin, tumor from her brain,
But I've found myself in a coma of unrelenting change,
And though I wish I could rearrange her vision,
It's all in vein,
Because with every high I feel the farewell pour into my tissue,
I feel the acidic last kiss brand my skin,
I feel the claws of withdrawal in my back,
And I feel the Fates willing,
Its, Angels, Theirs, Demons, Mine, Heavens, Our, Gods,
End.
When did brimstone,
Build our home,
Of hell fire love,
With an all encompassing lust to cave in,
I used to believe that the dirt,
Under her fingernails,
Was from climbing mountains,
But the only peaks reached,
Were pharmaceutical,
The dirt accumulated,
By the 6 feet of shame,
She claimed,
When deemed insane,
After so many nocturnal labels,
I wonder if she remembers her own name,
But her pestilence proves dominant,
Her incompetence has vomited,
Over all that was prosperous,
Leaving her a preposterous life,
Trading her heart love pride and blood,
For a dime,
Of all the problems in the world,
She surely can't be mine,
My burden was our love,
Deduced to a memory,
Like a burial shrine.