Do you weep,
For those you ****
Do you feel cold,
Without your second soul?
Skeleton,
In the house of the living.
It is like being dead,
But never being able to die.
Dissection,
On the surgeons table.
When you go,
will the dead pass me by?
You opened up.
The bee and the blooming flower bud.
Carnivore,
You slammed your petals shut.
Its mouth does not speak,
Therefore, its heart shall cease to beat?
Why does it matter to you?
It belongs to me.
I stole its air,
That makes it free.
Hung it from an umbilical cord,
Tied around a broken crescent moon.
Who knew that its home,
Would be the place to call its tomb.
Sang the carols of the needle man,
Now you hold a dead heart in your hand.
The air around screams ****** ******
Seeing you through a blood-stained mirror.
A stranger wearing your skin.
Dead inside the home it made within.
A stranger wearing your skin.
Buried inside your human coffin.
Sep 23, 2019
Sep 23, 2019 at 8:42 PM UTC
Do you weep,
For those you ****
Do you feel cold,
Without your second soul?
Skeleton,
In the house of the living.
It is like being dead,
But never being able to die.
Dissection,
On the surgeons table.
When you go,
will the dead pass me by?
You opened up.
The bee and the blooming flower bud.
Carnivore,
You slammed your petals shut.
Its mouth does not speak,
Therefore, its heart shall cease to beat?
Why does it matter to you?
It belongs to me.
I stole its air,
That makes it free.
Hung it from an umbilical cord,
Tied around a broken crescent moon.
Who knew that its home,
Would be the place to call its tomb.
Sang the carols of the needle man,
Now you hold a dead heart in your hand.
The air around screams ****** ******
Seeing you through a blood-stained mirror.
A stranger wearing your skin.
Dead inside the home it made within.
A stranger wearing your skin.
Buried inside your human coffin.
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