My corrupted doll, cracked, and falling, dying slowly,
With rotting flesh smelling of dead flowers and perfume,
My black dancer, when you become a mere shadow,
these bittersweet and suicidal drugs shall make you smile....
I promise on my honour I shall never abuse you, for your twisted denial is security to me,
I kiss your soft, pale, pink mouth which taste like morphine I thank you.
Performing this dark war we have been fabricating in these streets,
Smear this bloodied lipstick on your lips as you kiss this smashed mirror,
I sharpen my dagger to remind you of your now faded injury (on your brain)
I crucify you sinner in my church, I slaughter your innocence,
Your pretty lace contrasting with my darkening candles,
After our last bad rendezvous, I take you to heal at the hospital, your amnesia and
Hereditary disorder causes your soullessness; you're a ghost of your former self,
I'm narcissus, I'm stoned and nobody is here, I have a headache,
An abstaining need for my uniform opium.
I stand at midnight, smoking, calming my alien anarchy,
My dear Victorian plagued by being hypochondriac and Prelapsarian,
In Paris, I play my piano over a lake, a natural window,
I smile for I have induced my control over you once more; I keep you safe and quiet on your chain,
Little sparkle dancer, not yet a blossom, you are far from an angel.
© Copyright 2016 Twisted. All rights reserved.