A savior who murdered the soul
dragging me half to death
from bed sheets to the bathroom floor
the warmth of fabric to iced tiles
flowing black blood
flies on the surface of the lifeless
lifelessness,
the savior who voodoo’d the soul
draining me half to death
seeping through the cracks of the floor
splattering to the downstairs tiles
why must it stain, (the blood)
the thick hue of blood
the savior scrubs the tiles
that dries on the creases of lifelessness
he struck his arrow through the soul
ran away with the heartbeat (death)
but left the heart behind (on the floor)
wood swirls on the roof of the floor
and eyes look up with no life
dimming shades of tiles
twinkling with a white light of death
with no aroma of blood
no peace to the lingering soul
where is my soul
lullaby of love is again, lifeless
its faint sound drowns with blood
and disappears with the collapsing echo of tiles
and why is it so cold, (the floor?)
no- death
and can the dead arise the almost dead
and save me from my own cursed soul
for he has became the thief of my life
and the cells in my blood
hair is sweeping the floor
and my brain is spilling over every tile
thirty-nine painful lines of cuts inscribed in the soul
forming roots under the cement that holds the tiles
forcefully pushing to grow life once more
-Butta Love
