“Romance”

the Poem

He sits on the top of a tombstone,
The air tastes like poison and bile.
She’s tired of running away
So she tied her wrists to the woodpile
And sneaking into his brain
She whispers something in rhymes,
He sinks in her blood flavored lips
And every second lasts a night.
She screams from the top of her lungs,
No sound but her twitching eyes
And breaking into his heart
She carves silly rhymes with a knife,
Licking his lips, a demon’s smile.
He stands on the top of a mountain,
The air hurts like poisonous darts.
She’s tired of running away
So she tied her arms to the car
And kissing every road of the town
She mumbles something in rhymes.
He naps in her corpse flavored lips,
Every kiss is a bite of a shark.
She screams from the top of her lungs,
No sound, just ephemeral sparks
That break into his irises
And carve an irregular heart,
As she stares at the artwork,
Syllables like bullets.
And bleed, husband, bleed
For it’s our magical promise.
Here’s your ring,
Buried eight feet underground.

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