Haunted.
Cobwebs stuck to a splintered soul.
Locked up tight and dark.
Foreign matter, intrusive, invasive, spreading like mold in a damp shallow grave.
Intertwined in my DNA.
To my grave you'll go along with the fire.
The fire. Desire. The fire burns all the air.
Consumed by your smoke. Your ash tastes like sweet lips.
Smother me in comforting vines.
The more thorns the better, bleed my skin raw.
Once again as always, you've left me a mess.
