Sunday, June 7, 2009

Dead Girl

She's perched atop a mountain, watching me wade through five feet of bile and regret. I would think she gets some sick orgasm from the sight but I know it kills her with every arduous second. I'm buried beneath her sulfuric tongue while teeth are knocked down my throat and I'm commanded to smile. Now the dead girl weeps as she engraves a breakup letter on my chest. Words the scars will remind me of for the rest of my life. Walking away, hair flowing in the air like cigarette smoke, she leaves a trail of tears leading to my bath of blood. A broken home and forceful affection have molded a tattered woman into a cold-hearted mistress dripping with sorrow. She dies everyday only to be born again with a gun in her mouth aiming for her cranium and your heart.

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