There's only violence in our sex,
losing the Zen from the coupling,
the music keeps playing in my head,
because now you truss me up
and take me down, onto this ground,
this was my one wire, one desire.
Feinting to the right, now the left,
I'm wrong, again, and this is my smile,
rebellious in your arms once more,
slap me around and I'll spit in your face.
Lover. Love. Dove. Peace.
Blood is shed.
On my pillow.
Wring-a-wring your ros[i]e,
she's only losing a pocket full of pos[i]es,
grab the tissue, take the tissue
and down we all fall.
Wipe up the blood,
taste the red copper liquid,
gargle it down then throw it away.
Just your garbage
today.
One more time down we go,
playing for more than a reproduction show,
kiss me sweet, bite with spite,
and slaughter all essence of romance.
Vengeance is sexy on your mind,
thrust in your perceived power,
stab with your weapon of choice
and hear my laugh
of pain.
You wrung-a-wrung your ros[i]e,
she's just a pocket full of pos[i]es,
stole the tissue, tore the tissue
and down we both fell.
Just the start of violent sex
-
Lover. Love. Dove. Peace.
Blood is shed.
On my pillow.
Lotophagi
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