Two weeks left to decompose and rot
Help multiply the flies and let the maggots cot
I hate to say it but
I’m kind of glad you all forgot
I was emaciated before
Tangled in red vines
Blonde hair matted to the floor
Big black discs flying in my eyes
Kinked and konked and unresponsive
Speedballing up all night
Following the darkest routes
Even when God kept promising light
So can you imagine me on day fourteen?
Can you picture my tinfoil scene?
I don’t just want to play on repeat, but
I’m kind of glad you all forgot me
Because in this fortnight’s sleep
I’ve linked with her once more
Felt her dark hair on my fingertips
And brushed that hard clenched jaw
Saw that her beauty never wilted
Her moon glow skin didn’t break a sweat
But I’m nothing like she remembers
And she hasn’t even remembered yet
My clammy hands are reaching
The palms are cracked and wet
That subtle face turns disgraced
And she runs from the monster she’s met
I didn’t mean to scare you darling
I’m like this because you’re not
You’re the only one I’d hoped
Had not forgot…
There’s sirens outside my windows
A dozen cops to smash the glass
Between the hum of pupae buzz
You can hear their gasps
Another junkie dead, they say
Gone in and out, the 90’s way
Dig some dirt for me to lay
The nutshell of my body
(That’s the first thing that forgot me)
Pray it takes the needle out
Of the next victim’s crime site
I’m the paper cut that sizzles
Under lime’s bite
Too bright for such limelight
Destined to be rotten as an apple’s core
When it’s sat in the arse of the bin
A fortnight, or more
A little girl, of fourteen
Has just discovered our debut
She sits inside her bedroom
And plays through
She doesn’t quite understand yet
But is enamoured by the gore
Then Spotify shuffles to the next
And I’m forgotten once more
Please come to me again, darling
Nourish and heal what’s shattered
Wash my dirty cheeks
And brush my hair that’s matted
You left me, remember
And you left me in tatters
I’ve sat here for years
Chasing you so much the thought is battered
Anyway, at this stage
None of that much matters
These are the thoughts
That always bought
The infestation of my brain
And around them bones it clatters
We die young, down in a hole
Don’t follow me or copy
Two weeks it took to
Brush away my body
Just a man in a box
With records that never stopped
And a few that I never knew
Forgot me.
By Lyric Deep.
Lyric Deep™ 