There was no honey when I reached,
Just a little reminder of its smell,
There were no fair promises,
But filthy truths and bare wounds,
Wounds covered with only air,
A foul and false air,
I found it easier to live,
To sleep beside a silent beast,
A beast behind his blood.
Only behind his blood.
He was clown in expensive attires,
A gentleman who didn’t know what gentle meant,
No anger, fiery boiling blood,
Just cold icy feet and sweaty hands,
A little laugh, when on the peak.
When I started living double,
Raw and virgin, used and forgotten,
Nothing but taken to the dead heart.