I taste the astringent
dirt of cigarettes.
My lips are nailed down into the pavement.
My skin is torn with her many layers,
to the deepest of my flesh; within.
The blood is streaming out of my wounded hands.
Yes, I’m wasted,
in this situation of losing you.
Yes, of course.
I was the one whom wanted to let this situation never coming true.
But it seems I’m already lying with my head in the shards and the booze is lingering in my hair,
the bottle of my usual clinging; it’s empty. And I know; Love is not fair.
The words I’m usually singing;
I’m screaming them now.
My whole body aches in pain,
I’m feeling it again and again.
I taste the horrible mud,
my heart is torn, kicked off like a useless brochure as it falls onto the ground with a hurtful thud.
Yes, I’m wasted in melancholy…
My bloodied eyes,
do you see?
My ripped off flesh burning on coals,
I’m falling into the deep holes;
They’re breaking my ankels.
The pain’s letting me sink into the sea of blood.