Saturday, December 25, 2010

On the Razor's Edge

Wary faces, wrinkled and rough, like good leather
worried and restless no one to care for
Silently mourning, openly weeping, for the death
of her empty eyes
In wide-open spaces, there underneath the green grass, you can find the remnants
of my former addictions,
Contempt, my sweet love!
She was always with me, until I drove that jagged blade into her heart, the same day the sunshine crept into view
Hatred, my other drug of choice, cast aside, like a cigarette, shimmering in the summer night, dying slowly
but so surely,
Fear, my sultry mistress of the
Dark, never have fully escaped her black wings, nor will I ever,
But my love! O', my toothless whore!
You will forever remain a jilted woman, a shallow memory, like a dusty desert creek,
the seasons will measure your
Measured breaths, on a razors edge, on the tip of the tongue,
a certain lust for life...

Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

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