I'll take it back to those dark dim light streets and start again.
I'll never look back over my cold shoulder. There is now static in the midst. Like the final curtain call of a tragic happy ending. Deranged by this false pretension that you have embedded into my beautiful flaws. Lost in my own Dark morgue holding a ciggerate in my hand. Every drag closer to my dead line, but more bliss than dying next to a harlot, liar, and trader.
Baby why couldn't of you of just trusted my word? Now just look at this mess. Your beautiful mess. My disaster. My best gentlemen suit now ruined. I can wash out the stains of regret, but not the blood on your filthy hands that isn't your own. Set the trial. Prosecute the guilty. **** the false idols and beat the cheeks of the ignorant.
Your a addict for those tall tale accusations that feed your hunger. Like the deep belly of the beast that is never satisfied. Seeking the image of your face to destroy, but your faceless to my devine perspective of a fake object I once looked up too.
Set the trial. Prosecute the guilty. **** the false idols and beat the cheeks of the ignorant.
Your beautiful mess.
My disaster.
I'm so very fond of this piece. A lot of regret, agony , anger , and pain is much interrupted. Key points of my experience of the past year.