My voice

Sweat sucked like god Grafted to your hands while you choke me,
Inside my throat you make the sick subside, you speak for me,
I thank you for my voice and words but this me in the mirror hurts,
Sweat, cum and sad sad sonic lust flows through my mouth like,

endless orgasm in virgin clutch,

like unseen sunrise in the depth of dusk,

like a safe word ignored in the heat of lust,

like the me in the mirror who ages and rusts,

because...

sin after sin after song spills out like a choir boy burning alive,
Deafening and mad inside, my senses, the passion pours on,

And I can't turn it off...

I thank you for my voice and words but this me in the mirror hurts,

you misunderstand sir, these words aren't mine,
They belong to the demon... breathing inside,
His song is my torture, His pleasure my pain,
I'm bleeding art softly, slowly going insane,
I scrape at the canvas, to pour out my soul,
After I feel empty, Is the only way The me in the canvas

will go,

willingly,

personal apocalyptic stuttered shame like sachrine soap to clean the pain
Behind my lips the sick survives, you speak for me in poetic lies
I thank you for my voice and words but this me in the mirror hurts
Living in between space and time where angels burn and martyrs die
And Living shit like me spew sadly stupid and incongruent rhymes like,

Life that fades to infant mass

Like love that shys from passions grasp

Like gods that ignore this age old task

like apocalypse that repeats and and pain


that lasts