I love to live along the brink,
and pen my truths in darkened ink—
let every word delight in lies,
draped in excuses, dressed in alibis.
I bathe within sweet, sticky sin,
never afraid to once more begin,
to let myself unquietly spill
in the surge of a diabolical thrill.
I document these shadowed days
in a slow, poetic, drifting haze,
chasing every beautiful bad—
just to say the life I had.
Such primal needs, sharp and deep,
unfold in deeds I swore to keep,
as talons trace with knowing grace
the hidden path to that secret place.
I leave behind a slick of black,
broad-lined truths with no way back—
a final confession, sealed and signed
right there along the dotted line.