If I had my way, you'd wear me like a disease.

Showing the rot across your skin, the ticks, the maggots, the fleas.

Fuck the coffin.

who needs it when your flesh is this rotten.

They can't remove you from the teeth of god, the hands of crashing brine.

I gave you a pregnancy of fast drying cement, removed your eyes so you'd be sure to never leave the sun shine.

I can still hear you sing as you sink.

Still against my skull you tire as I think.

You killed me for years, it wasn't me I swear.

“You're pathetic, it was about all I could bear.”

Inhale black smoke of our burning home. Our failing flesh and bone.

Cinder left to mingle in dirt, to fall away from anything it was, anything it was ever thought to be besides alone.

If I had my way, you'd forget me faster than I forgot myself around you.

If I had my way I'd kill myself in front of you,

The version you made of me.

The two left to rot and never truly got to be.

Any and all you hopelessly clung to.

The muzzle flash could burn away the feeling of your tongue on my hard pallete.

Leaving marks i couldn't remove was your most impressive talent.

Left full of festering fear and lingering ciggerette smoke.

I wear you like your sewn to my bones, drapped over like a cloak.

You survived the alcohol burns, the cleaning brine and the engulfing hell set alight inside our home.

I was just hanging on to weather the terminal tragedy we where heading toward, just hanging on through our forever gloam.

If I had my way,

if I had anything left to say.

If it wasn't my tongue I had to pay.

I'd tell you I was the disease,

I shaped our hell out of clay only I could see.

Picture by Karl Callwood on unsplaah and edited by me.