23.9.09

Cocaine.
Jo.


Little baby,
As you smile young and sweet.
My beautiful baby.
Siping on gin and tea.
Painted eyebrows.
And dark red wine lips.
You smile death.
As your fingers wither gray.

Your corpse lingers for days.
As you lie on the persian rug.
As your crime scene sits frozen.
Finger prints have only touched your soul.

But the blood inside of you shows.
The thrusts of imagination and of harmfull intents.
I come home to my baby.
And I stare at what is left.

My darling, victim.
I still feel you in my sleep.
And I walk down the stairs only to see you at my feet.

You're looking thin today.
It's turned a shade of brown.
It's stained where I've made you bleed.
Your Porcelain thighs take the crimson drips in tragedy.

As my handprints on your neck create a couture horror.
Your last vision was the green in my eyes.
Your last whisper was only received for my mind to replay.

You are mine forever.
You are mine to play.

My little child, do you not see?
I have created you.
You no longer have the coice of a negative response.

Your lips give mine a chill.
You seem cold when you're deceased.

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