She was the kind of twirl that would burn your soul.
No remorse to be seen on her face, while she would
dip her powder puff into your ashes and delicately
apply you across her flesh as her newest facade.

Her innocence, only as deep as she could pull you inside.
Fishing hooks in the guise of love.
It was so easy to mistake her for beautiful
when she would whisper everything that made you weak into your ear.

A slow drip of the perfect poisons.
A cocktail of seduction, and cunning.
God forbid the day that you withdrawal,
and see it all clearly through the crudely stitched wound in your chest.

I am the kind of man that grins at her ploy,
allowing her to think that she's kept me
wool covered in her play-bin.
The ash of a phoenix applied to her cool flesh.

I ignite with her post goodbye sex cigarette,
leaving her with her ghosts. Leaving her with my ghost.
You shouldn't tamper with the hearts of the dead,
without at least a kiss.

04/18/2012

Posted on 04/18/2012
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