when your eyelids start to close
i begin to think that
you'd be better off dead.
that faint smell of roses
that you leave in your wake
is a clear indication
that something stickier
is on the loose,
something that sins and gins more
something that blings and wins more
something that shiny new things more
something that wines and dines more
something that holds open the door
something that fucks on the floor
something that eats my roar
something that chews my lore
something that sucks my whore
and sucks and sucks until i'm so(a)r(e)
that's what I want.
and THAT is what I'm ready for.