I had the best intentions to blog about The Muse, but she is a fickle wench and didn’t want me talking about her today. She shoved this at me as a distraction. I bit.
You’re dead but you don’t know it yet. You never did have the good sense to lie down and let go. The putrid words falling from rotten lips score living flesh while bathing you in an unnatural glow. Destruction is your hunger and death is your sated smile.
You’re dead but you don’t know it yet. Decaying skin sloughs away as you reach for me. I have not the strength to put you down though I know you’re gone. The stench draws bile up in my throat, yet lures me in, to you, to love, to death.
You’re dead but you don’t know it yet. I can’t let you take me too. I see your victims stirring at your feet as you crush a finger under your boot. They worship you now, dead too. And I am falling under your spell, under your decay, under your pain that will numb me and whisk me away.
I am dead now, but I don’t know it.