God killed god,like you kill dreams.
I kill myself a little more everyday,
without you I'm strung out.

seeing you,
hearing you,
brings bitter tastes and acrid smells
rushing back again.


though, caring was never your strong suite, really.
I'll made this apparition, willing.
I matter to you,
like sex to a prostitute.
I was always that good bitch, for you.
but still, my echoes never got through.


whatever can be said,
whatever I have done.
I still think I'm the lucky one.
just to know you.


I will always be that whore for you!
though doubtful, you'd cared
like smoke signals to black skies.

couldn't,can't,never again
are the mottoes,mantras,principles
of me
and to add a high mark to this
I'll end, in eloquence


I always knew,if I tried hard enough
I just die trying.


~Mason Allison