I like to sink into this tar of cerebral thoughts,
I like the adrenalin and the fear and the power.
I crave the levitation of the soul at this hour,
when the fingers are puppets and the passion the strings.
I enjoy the gasping of thick, rhetoric air
as it contorts my lungs and swells my brain.
A swift consumption of the tired sane
that suffocates the earthly, dulling dead.
You are a twisted siren I despise.
Your colour is whitewashed and blinding.
You take me with you in your declining,
and our shine dulls at the rise of day.