Delilah and the Philistines

My mental image impaired
Undid the braids in my hair
I rain destruction in the fight of my inner feels
Remove the tricks of the trade
You’re just alone on the stage
There’s no witness fly your soul
Through the windshield…

~*~

She breaks all your fingers and she calls it love

She’s got the eyes of a demon with the hands of a god

A delicate masquerade, dress lined of backbones

Sentencing the innocent to hang by her good intentions

.

She sleeps in a bed of casualties, a murder house designed

To lure in the chains and incarcerate her psychosomatic desires

Picturesque saint with a stolen halo falling off asphodel hair

Lips of asbestos and reflections of disaster on her morning wear

.

“It’s all for your good,” a sultry lie, “have faith in no one but me.”

Keep the strings attached on your neck, deflecting her own failed sun

“You’re never going to be satisfied, why do you even try, sweetie?”

The automatic letter for the clockwork machinery she calls her lungs

.

She breaks you down and breaks you apart and she calls it love

She’s a philosopher without the sagacity, she’s a surgeon without the blood

A desperate manipulation, exposed body lined with cheating scars

Sentencing the world to hang by her bad intentions just because she lost the war.

~*~

Damaged pride and vulnerable
All my fears are open now
Never thought I could hurt you so hard
Staring at my hollow phone
Wondering if you’ve found your home
Feel like I deserve to die alone again…

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