Inspiration dissolves on the tip of my tongue. Air is always warm until it reaches my lung. Vaccinations for this virus just don't exist. I'm a hologram, an honest scam, a warning on your list, contaminated by the risk you never should have missed, indicated silently, but constantly dismissed. So how does it feel when your veins start to twist? Trust kills like barbed wire wrapped around your wrist... but this will make you love again.
Reality is a well-structured dream, a lucid hallucination. You scream to break my concentration. I hear nothing without ventilation. This theme exceeds slight complications, bones give in to mastication, and lacerations are too extreme. Penetration's what it seems to be these days.
My selfish ways surround your eyes, slowly brushing off the flies in the quiet light of morning. Skin has been desensitized by every moment you've despised, and sunrise tends to singe the ties that keep us both alive... but this will make you love again.
Every damp confession dies inside of my obsession, chilling oxygen's regression, destroying health's progression while resurrection falters. Laid beside an empty altar in a casket, lips turn blue. You'll smile when I want you to. Accept the dusty view, because everything you knew will soon become a part of me, a vow you can't renew, one cold memory that turned to a few, and innocence is overdue... but this will make you love again.
I waited in shadows and woke in darkness to cut your bloodline. Your sins are mine. These stars will never shine the same again. The bitter end has been designed. Paths are cracked and serpentine.. they glisten as you stare. The room still spins to lock you in my nightmare. I'll keep you there, biting through the words you should have said, necrofeeling weak until it's fed.
It's just my head, my bed of dead roses where anesthetics bring red overdoses, violent fractures shimmer comatose and becoming a ghost is just hypnosis. I've never been the honest hostess, but diagnosis gave me a new hearse. So expect the worst. Embrace the curse, or burn my bed of dead roses.
This will make you love again.