The Death of Me

 

 

Your lips hold a poisoned cure

A sweet death and nothing pure

Yet with them I must entwine

A drunkard drawn to red wine

 

I tie my own knotted rope

Survival not given hope

A death easy to surmise

Green daggers seen in your eyes

 

Your hands soft as kitten’s paws

Hide the sharp and killing claws

No malice do I detect

As they slip around my neck

 

This world you make of pretend

Wearing the costume of friend

My head filled with wanton lies

A specter to my own demise

 

The love you said would e’er stay

Lover’s manna for each day

Becomes your most harmful tool

When denied to latest fool

 

World War III could be realized

With your love now weaponized

Though I know you cannot see

Withheld love the death of me

 

 

 

 

Comments
6 Responses to “The Death of Me”
  1. Harley Unhinged says:

    Heart flutters with every mention that could possibly be directed at me 🖤❤

  2. Jim Borden says:

    Here’s hoping WWIII never materializes…

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