who are you trying to convince when you say you don't love her anymore?
you hiss it out with whatever breath your dirt-filled lungs have left
they say the devil first appeared as a serpent with a forked tongue
and he has four names: the Liar, the Thief, the Blasphemer, the Angel
if you've forgotten that sinners once saw heaven too
then you're no better than the jealous gods she's never gotten on her knees for
the truth has never known the backs of your teeth, but her name has
though slick with embalming fluid, she'd still kiss that wretched mouth
even if it's been known to whisper sweeter things to corpses
there are still pieces of her bones that miss fragments of your flesh
would you die for her? ... too late
thoughts of her have already suffocated you, though her fingers never touched your throat
treasures gained by wickedness do not profit you
and righteousness delivers you from a certain death
imperfect love is the root of all evil, and you crave it like honey
you crave what is not yours so you let her go as soon as you grasp her
because it feels better when you steal her heart
instead of it being place in your palms, still aching for a vessel
if you'd ever swallow your own words, you'd find they taste like poison
but you've never shut your mouth and instead let the sacrilege drip down your chin
it's creating puddles, pools, oceans and you love to hear her drowning
don't you know her name is sacred? why are you throwing it around like scraps?
she is tenderest flesh, the finest feast and you've spit her out like bitter bile
it's a **** good thing she's already chewed up
grab your rosary, spineless coward, repent! repent! repent!
you'll beg for forgiveness when you realize that purgatory isn't a void
rather an endless list of every place you wanted to touch her while you were both alive
the spaces between her ribs, the hollow of her cheeks, her lungs
she would've told you that you could do those things before her mouth got wired shut
but now it's too late, now you're just coffin-dwelling lovers, you can't hear
her whisper the one thing you loved the most: her poems