La Beauté de la Mort

In my verses,

I saw you bleeding.

Little curses.

Always pleading.

Needing and screaming,

your veins burst.

You aren't dreaming

and it's getting worse.

This love was poison

upon your tongue,

but it was chosen,

burns your lungs. 

I'm an itch you scratch 

a little too hard.

I'm a stricken match

that leaves you charred.

I'll kiss your neck

while your breath goes short

A wondrous wreck:

la beauté de la mort.

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"Oh, falling leaves should curse their branches for not letting them decide where they should fall and not letting them refuse to fall at all." David Bazan Curse Your Branches

"I try to will myself away while shouting habits plead their case." Kevin Devine You'll Only End Up Joining Them