I'll find you in the pockets of discarded history-- Growing grasping roots and perforating thorns. I'll pull you out, forcefully, And savor the vermeil spread of your faults. I'll relish the wretched, wanton wailing That shall befall us both, As I obliterate the love that has spurred me Into this ineluctable malevolence. Sometimes, I'd yearn for your demise and mine That I'd forge elaborate schemes To release me from your addictive memories; Yet, on lonesome moments, I succumb to the commiserating world Of anarchic slumber and permissive inanity; Thereby, permitting vacuoles of regret to creep Into each instance of enforced indifference. "Tarnished" I'll find you in the pockets of discarded history-- Growing grasping roots and perforating thorns. I'll pull you out, forcefully, And savor the vermeil spread of your faults. I'll relish the wretched wailing That shall befall us both,
