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Antipasto
A strange entre that breaks the skin and taints the mind and leaves me licking the bowl
Such infatuation seems to tear the stomach lining and leave ulcers in the soul
Bruises on my wrists from mutual obsession that lingers in the space between our mouths
The taste of something old turned young again makes me feel whole once again
Tasted my flesh right by your side and branded my skin
Tick tock, baby
They're not gonna stop
Tick tock, baby
No one gives a f*ck
The rich appetizer; a correlation when the planets align with your crooked spine
Lay down your bones to me, my dear
Come home to me for a while again and bathe in wine and the scent of all your favorite flowers
Crawl back in bed and decay in silken sheets stained with lover's righteousness
Tick tock, baby
I'm not gonna stop
Tick tock, baby
I don't give a f*ck
Tonight's third course is laced in sweat and tears from last valentines day's endeavors
She's insane without the acidic taste of fearful flesh stuck between her pristine canines
She's bitter without the sourness of her favorite aged red wine
I bought her off the black market
Delivered to my doorstep in the dead of night with a hitch for freshly spilled blood
My sweet fallen angel of slow death and formaldehyde
Roll up the ashes from last nights fire in the living room's fireplace while we were too busy Becoming one to worry about the house burning down
Tick tock, baby
Don't stop
Tick tock, baby
You don't give a f*ck
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I keep writing poems for people I will never know