These freshly picked flowers that you pressed with your body. Beneath the hardwood.
Beneath the shadows.
Yellowed, brittle, pure. They fill my mouth with the taste of stale earth.
My hunger, unmoved.
I promised you nothing, but a firm hand, a sorry smile, a gesture of conceit.
Beneath my flesh, I feel it flourish.
This sickness, go, spare yourself.
Bed sores and fever dreams.
Warmth and despondency.
To sleep through this mockery,
I await. The sweat it beads, the stench of disease.
Come to me, come to me, I await.
Beneath the shadows.
Yellowed, brittle, pure. They fill my mouth with the taste of stale earth.
My hunger, unmoved.
I promised you nothing, but a firm hand, a sorry smile, a gesture of conceit.
Beneath my flesh, I feel it flourish.
This sickness, go, spare yourself.
Bed sores and fever dreams.
Warmth and despondency.
To sleep through this mockery,
I await. The sweat it beads, the stench of disease.
Come to me, come to me, I await.