Did you enjoy the taste of her neck?
And does it linger on you tongue life after taste?
And do you find yourself wishing it were still yesterday
With the blackness of the infinite above glittering like a thousand shiny
spikes
And your hand resting so tenderly on her thigh
And me, conveniently pushed into the inactive and dead part of your mind?

Yeah well I guess you could say I’m jealous
But only because I’d give anything to be able to send someone’s heart down a
grater and not feel any remorse.
I’d love to see the blood squirting from your core, at the very beat of my
heart
And I’d love to see you cry, and for your tears to burn patterns into your
cheeks
And I’d love for the sweet taste of my obsolete innocence to become a putrid
flavor that makes your stomach react in a most rancid way
I’d love for your vomit to plug up your throat, and for you eyes to water in
pain
Well it’s nothing close to my pain so consider yourself lucky
And I’d love for you to die, right there on the spotlight
While the world watches in ghastly awe
At such a marvelous, five star departure
But I wouldn’t love the way my innards would twist and turn at the sight of
your mangled body.

Don’t set the alarm clock tomorrow
Because when it screams, I’m not waking up.
And don’t bother for the extra pillows
Because my corpse won’t need the fluff
I’m introducing this blade to the skin of my arm in hopes that a friendship
will flourish
And my wrists blushes as the knife gives a small kiss
Lovely reds of me
And kisses more, lovely lips do greet my arm
In a most happy way

Smile myself to sleep
Cause I know that this will be the last time that I ever have to worry
About you hogging all the covers
Maybe my gushing blood will seep within you and cause you to wake
Probably not
But I’m not going to worry anyway

Let the world go
I didn’t like it here anyway
So this
Is how
It ends.
So this
Is how
I end.



just to let you know, I did mean for it to be "so this is how IT ends" and
then "so this is how I end" i didn't intend for the last I to be an it
instead. mmmm, nothing better than writing poems at two thirty in the
morning!
 
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