Draping your dead skin across my mattress
because you couldn't wear it anymore,
you wrapped thirteen wires around my neck
and calmly spit out the blood of a whore.

Love swallows old memories drenched in bleach,
burning holes in the back of it's throat to
singe the smiles of forlorn majesties,
while touching the butane ring around you.

Gods were replaced by devils with angel
wings, which had been disfigured long before
dim multicolored lights could control you,
but their shadows held a blinding allure.

A church was built on the hill where pitchforks
were not accepted unless they were blue,
and I could never worship anything
that didn't mutilate the ghost I knew.

Tonight, I'll lick your flesh for the last time,
chewing on organs that filled this disguise.
Masochistic ruin reigns because lust
always tastes sweeter when somebody dies.