(no subject)
sometimes i pretend that im dead.
ill pose on the bed as
if it's a comfy casket
and close my hands like a fox trap on my chest.
i stop the noise of breathing
and accept every persons fated poise
of someone who was something
but now has been digested into nothing.
when ive had my fill of life
at such a dreafully dead pace,
i bite gently at my knuckles
as if they were your
shoulders, neck, and face.
it is an adrenaline shot of lust
which brings me back from an overdose of dread.
but there will always be something
that makes me pretend that im dead.
ill pose on the bed as
if it's a comfy casket
and close my hands like a fox trap on my chest.
i stop the noise of breathing
and accept every persons fated poise
of someone who was something
but now has been digested into nothing.
when ive had my fill of life
at such a dreafully dead pace,
i bite gently at my knuckles
as if they were your
shoulders, neck, and face.
it is an adrenaline shot of lust
which brings me back from an overdose of dread.
but there will always be something
that makes me pretend that im dead.