Monday

This might be a song one day...

And it's NOT about you...

(Untitled)

When you lay in your lies and spy on my place and spit in my face with your poison and blood still sewn into lace around my lungs and my roots by the tree at my boots
Rotting the trees
But not rotting me-
You cannot break me or shake me or take me to the hell in your head and under a spell that's already dead but still boils over, like crimson and clover.
I will never die...
I will never lie...
In a bed made for wolves who've just had their last meal starving for death but they ate a raw deal
Death won't come fast it's life that will last and the chains that you grasp are fading the past that you can't forget or forgive or relive, or change or charge for others to see your vision is blurred by all the deceit. 
I will never die...
I will never lie...
Lay before me upon the dead sea and the stars in the sky and the god that you pray to every night...
They are all dead.
They are are dead.
You are all dead,
but I will never die.
You rotted the trees
But you'll never rot me.

(A work in progress)

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