Poison

November 2, 2005

Poison... that toxic perfume of my existence slowly poisons and taints itself unto death. I feel it... with every pump of that wretched organ, the fire is pushed to the outter reaches of my body and returns back again spreading it's disease, beginning it's decay. The blood I once held as precious, the red liquid intoxication with which I was obsessed, now seems a vile overrated neccessity that obtrudes itself upon me. I pray for the rain to wash this filth away from me. To pour itself upon my skin and wash away this corruption leaving the soft skin that was once beneath the hand of the one that I wished it to be.