There are questions I can’t ask
There are answers she won’t give
And this damaged quiz called Love
Keeps being perfect.

There are silences I’d never scream
There are screams she always shushed
And this rotten lullaby of love
Keeps getting sung.

Once upon a time, What used to be inside, was out
And what was out, was real
Now all that we see and say,
are words; and pictures; and some songs that we used to listen to.

We are going on the right path,
We often tell this to each other.
What is it that stops us from ripping the band aid off,
From yanking it with a jolt.

We both are junkies of our skins,
our rotten ashen hearts,
For the only place we find solace,
Is the mud we live in,
Where every glance at each other sinks our hearts more,
And we love it,
Every wound we survive,
The smell of rotten hearts,
Is the perfume we wear,
Every single night.

Fore we make love under the filthy stars,
Every time we break our hearts.

And this cold night of love,
Keeps getting darker.

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