You still own my rotting heart
All this time has passed
And you’re boney grip is still as tight
The sting is sharp as ever
My rotting heart pumping its pus
The fluid left after your touch
Infected with your presence
My rotting heart
Vilifying You
Your soft crone like hands tipped in immaculate wicked barbs
Nowhere as sharp as your sweetly poisoned tongue
With honeyed caustic words
Cream like blemished skin obscuring a golden black heart
Pumping its cherry red ichor
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