an old poem from feb 08

and when you die, 

look to the soul, 

you finally awakened,

selfishly taken

and spit your lungs out,

so i can waste them

i will save the scarlett heart

for last

so i can taste it

to suck on your morbidity

is but a luxury,

to think of all the living

you despise

on this roller coaster ride

and even yet 

to know i lack the things

which i can not comprehend

the sheer thought of you

bloodied, shrivilling hopelessly

makes me one of them.