Down at my feet lies a defeat that was always a trick and never a treat.
Roses gifted somehow turn to rocks & always eventually rot.
In the end she reassures always saying "I'm yours."
A heart sits staring down as her queen walks out the door - but forever more will she be her paramour.
What's it all for if sipping closes doors?
It will open blood red windows instead. Windows to smoke out of, windows to do dope out of, windows to blow coke & toke out of, windows to hang rope out of. At the bottom, a stall where there is a deep deep fall.
It's all fate - this hate and need to repudiate, but is it too late to recreate and relate back to the right state? The state of mind that's got me in a bind, will only heal with time.
Another chip off the old block of ice that is every bit consice but rarely nice.
The queen one day will return with the heart she stole away & slowly burned.
The heart crawls back to defeat with the feeling to retreat. To catch a beat. To never return to these cold streets.
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