The texture of your fingers
Mixed with the warmth of the blood underneath
Your grip, so tight around my chest
Two hands playing with a deck of cards,
Bleeding hearts,
A jealous spade,
And a crying imbecile,
Stashing his woes under a drowning clover
A full set of nobility without a throne room to gather
Flipping the paper thin layers of my soul
Wet with the liquid,
From the bottom of your empty glass,
They are beginning to tear
We have both been weakened,
Weighed down by a hundred hollow faces,
Messy portraits of an intolerable waste
Spraying your dreams across my shoulder blade
Your words hit my shirt as droplets of blood
Cheeks, still glistening from with the mark of your tongue
I am helpless, but I am home
Your body against me
I close my eyes and curse this wretched time
This infinite space
Cluttered with the all hardened sorrow that only a lesser man could bring
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