Unforgettable days described
on a scroll
soaked with sin.
Toxín.

Bright and smart,
she was so alive,
pure beauty of life.
He took all he could gain
showing her just disdain,
whispered words
that she wants,
getting under her skin
but toxín.
And she heard
that her fate
is a widow from now,
silent vow.
So let it begin
with toxín.

He thought that woman like her
won't be able to leave,
will be silent, naive
and consent just to live
next to him -
so relentless and grim.
Just to serve,
just to live in the shadow,
just to try to deserve.
Feigning grin.
Who is he to get those vague jokes
about toxín?

He thought he would drink to the bottom,
but drops flowed down the glass.
Why this soul is so rotten?
Why he incessantly looks at
her silhouette?
Why he's searching for rhyme like poet?
Now he lurched..
Her toxín is his end.

The stars will go out,
his rough desire to hear her voice like tweet,
feel her touch, hear her sound...
She won't be there anymore,
she will never give treat,
and he won't ignore
broken bound.
Every minute is poisoned.
Toxin.

The morning is dawning,
the wind scatters birds,
and now he is calling
to say that he loves.
A fragment of her heart will be healing,
she knows.
Infernal existence,
time flows,
and he's full of faith
whispers name.
Does he know that his distance
is passing away?

She cries and asks how to live,
she's sincere in tears -
she needs time to relieve.

He did hold her..
No way,
every hour was poisoned,
so he had once to pay.

One of them had to
take all that toxin.

That rush of euphoria fighting into our head,
Jolt of adrenaline creeping to the places we tread,
Reckless actions thrown up for the sake of this sensation,
What more can this be called...
but a poison created of our own volation?

When one self-medicates,
Sometimes they grab the nostrum
Rather than the cataplasm.
Trying to clean the well, they mistake belladonna for myristica.
Perhaps it was the region or the season,
Maybe the water table atop which they were building.
Were it a town,
Perhaps its citizen lacked hygiene
Or had no care to maintain things.
Maybe they sparsely talked things over
And thought little of one another.
Of the many circumstances,
It could've been the building materials
Or the architects.
The dictates we lay out
For ourselves and those around us
Rarely are truly followed
In the case of relations between each other,
And typically less so
In the case of the larger world.

I am my father’s daughter.
His blood flows in mine.
I feel the cursed liquid run through my body,
with every beat of my heart.

It’s like gasoline,
slowly poisoning me –
as it did to him.
My clock reminds me,
with every tick –
“Not much time left!”

There is no escape.
The enemy is inside me,
hunting me down –
just another fallen soul in his way.

I watch myself in the mirror,
my father’s face looks back at me.
I hate what I see, just as much
as I hate him.

But he was just a child once too.
Feeling the same poison run,
through his fragile body.
I pity him.
But I do not forgive.

Your promises are like roses
Your hands are like knives
A drug I'll take in small doses
knowing it took many lives

A promise with a wounding thorn
Coax me 'cause your caress incises
An ecstasy was born in a human form
and I'm consumed by its noxiousness

Slop
in the trough.
Poison cough.
Shattered femur.
No dreamer.
In a world of crime
It is
Time