Sucked, like venom from a wound,
I draw from you
the rage you’ve worn like skin.
And oh, hasn’t it chafed until you
couldn’t possibly let anyone in.
Finger-tip to finger-tip
I breathe it all in,
the dust, the rust, the
compelling you to combust;
until without a shell,
without that pre-supposed hell…
you’re all shiny and new.
How long since you met you?
And still I suck,
drawing poison from a well…
all those morals and judgements
that lined your prison cell.
Isn’t it time your false idols fell?
What lies beneath is the man I want
is a story
to be told.