sepsis soul

The biting cold kisses my face Whirling and writhing frozen in place This frozen place a product of you Your disposition chilling me through Silence broken only by hate This practical joke the product of fate The crooked grin of the jester confusing Somehow he finds my situation amusing Stuck here with you not a thing I can do I stare at the noose I'm enjoying the view Your flurry of words spit out like venom Your poisonous soul reflected within them I'm up to my neck you've lost my respect Holding an ice pick aimed for your chest There's no chizzling out your frozen heart The pieces lay on the ground broken apart Stomping the pieces that lay at my feet The melt water runs down the heat of the street Your falling down faster into your septic hole The sewer seems suiting for your sepsis Soul