Blood and Dust

I think most nights on your blood pulse

When will mine still? It is caught fast

In torpid spiral: a serpentine intoxication.

Addiction thrown down to an anorexic gullet


I am so cold. Warmth soaked and lost

Forever in an innate chasm. Dark and deep

You rain right through, the cruelest storm

Or the hot craved tranfusion of blood?

To the blade I am an offering, made fresh

But sense calls for the cover of silence

And sweeter flesh. Hollow shells crumble

And make for the poorest palmed currency.


Familiarity burns at your throat like bourbon

The demon lashing your heals, binding your wrists

To a past quagmired in wounded ghosts and

blood and dust. A poison labelled drink me.

Gifs not my own. Taken from AHS: Hotel


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