In the mists of my brinings come to the tips of my siege. Taste nothing of the truth from lips hindered with absence. Brisk odes to life or death sip from the flask of Hell. The rolling heiffer smoothes over its belly full of honor and shame now blind with puss. Ivory palms of darkness converge me with disastrous throws of passion and lust. Stealing the blood that thickens within ripping innocence from broken memories in a vacuous mind. "Tell mother I won't come home again." I lay lost on bodes of purity, knowing nothing of the lies I've told.
