Your sticky and moist on my fingertips,
I pull you apart to push to my lips.
My tongue follows the folds of your skin,
Becoming light as I hold you in.

Dancing with you burns my desire,
Bringing me close as you hold onto fire.
I Taste you as I exhale so slow,
I feel your touch as you come and go.

Rolling my fingers over your paper skin.
Holding you close as I breath you in.
I pull on you for one final kiss,
Searching in you for something I miss.

Returning again and again to **** the pain,
Just me, myself and MaryJane.

Throwing her religion down my throat
fuels my anxiety
the ''I am saved and better than you and your going to hell'' starts so much OCD
Her eyes are truly serious; dead, and prideful
a piece of a cardboard,
box of a person who sold her soul to fear.

Though when I read the New Test
and see the broken mesh of people.
That man who walked with sinners like me
and slept alone on concrete floors
when none cared he was God,
and looked into eyes of the lost with such love
I know he never called us from above

to sit and judge,
others.

Words are a mere cover that hides a decaying heart.