Robert Smith lied; boys do cry.

Feb 11, 2005 15:41

Looking forward to flatlined love affair
the comfort of a dire lovesickness I've
come to cherish the bed sores and the
salt in my own tears my beautiful
affliction your kiss festers like a boil I
find myself ugly in your eyes of asylum
scenery have you come to take me away
take me away darling you are a disease
that spreads like sunshine the vultures
make a halo while thiey wait for me to
die your fingers crawl like flies on peeling
flesh paralyzed you warm me in a cold
sweat deadened but moving in seizures
Loving in fits of disillusional blurs don't
you come near me buried above ground
and rotting you can't take the corpse from
his cold this is not a sickness if I beg it's
an addiction throw your flowers to the
fever I'm an abscess with a heartbeat
an armspan of dirty needles and rusted
pieces flowers mask the decomposing
passion is watching how fast I can
deteriorate desperation is a clothing
incision.
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