relation- friend- ships
are not what they seem to me
for devotion and loyalty
only means burnt wood
burnt wood chips wont stop falling
out of this abyss above my head
and doll heads wont stop rolling down to my feet
wanting the truth
when there is no truth to tell
their tongues slither their lies into my veins
and just like the wood chips,
my heart begins to chip as well
and I feel them falling to the pit of my stomach
as the sound of hunger echoes throughout this empty space
cupid keeps aiming his fucking arrows at me
only to succeed in showing me another failure-
and to think
I wanted 48 hours to hug you
and when I lay in the bed of polished dreams,
I can only think:
where the hell did this cut come from?
