how many chords til this song vomits out real love (disembowel) wrote in unsent, @ 2008-11-18 12:53:00

To the cold fingers that used to trace up my spine--

You are connected to the hands that hurt, the hands that held, the hands that are attached to the devil himself. It was never enough, but you fed me more and more chemicals and sedatives and numbness that I gladly accepted. I broke down the same way your bones broke on my skull. And I still can't believe I stayed with you through the hospital run. I should have wrapped the belt tighter around your throat, I shouldn't have asked for the favor back, but you were willing and I was desperate. The hands that hurt, the hands that held... release. Those weren't conversations, they were manifestations, you swore you heard demons and they were demanding death upon me. You really wanted to kill me. I said, "Go ahead and just fucking do it." You were close, I know, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see, I couldn't hear. You were close.

I remember one night a companion's voice fluttered through the phone line, behind the voice with the summer sky eyes, "Maybe she likes it."

Cold fingers, you really fucked me up, I think. The last snow fall held your deathbed, yet your murderous breath still tickles my nape and whispers degrading stories of disgusting love.

I hope you're rotting into a shade of red and brown.

-- spine.

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