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Late July sun once bronzed innocent skin.
Laughter was coquettish and genuine.
I had no idea what I'd become
when desperation and winter set in.

The kind of love that makes butterflies spin
was worth hiding for at cheap motor inns.
But I cared too much, and his choice could kill.
Beauty was lost with original sin.


It's funny how night moves beneath your feet,
thinking there's no one left to lose or cheat,
'til torture becomes entertainment, so
my soul was sold in a strangers backseat.

From a careless actress, they bought deceit.
Depleting hope muffles screams through damp sheets.
With this fraudulent lust comes so much less
than a sense of failure beyond defeat.


Where love once lingered is now vacancy.
With a mouthful of blood and secrecy,
it's hard to remember where I went wrong,
or how I choked on hell's depravity.

But when I found your grave, it was empty.
No more sunlit days, no more decency.
I pray to eventually wish you well,
and forget about who I used to be.