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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