So, tell me how you really fell,
Just tell me what you want.
Afraid of falling for you,
Could I be your only sun?
Sick of playing wicked games,
-And sick of playing of the part.
So give your love onto me now,
-And I’ll hand over my heart.
Hand over my heart unto you, so now your playing my part,
Play my role, my wicked games, my indifference from the start.
On line one, knocked down like a outlaw on the run for manslaughter,
Misdemeanors and cold-hearted, a game of chess for your blasphemy.
Asking me 21 questions about nothingness without chastity,
Swallowing all emotions, for lust has overcome my own dastardly,
Personality and opinions, my vitality and my dominions,
My dexterity and my divisions, my repugnance and my forgiveness.
Swore by a dagger, cut veins across the blood that bleeds true,
I need you; oxidization is destroying my nerves too.
I see you, in my wake of dreams and my darkness of all mindset,
My starkness display of these lines sent, good god, where has the time went?
I bend my manipulation to repent upon your soul,
-But there’s a reason for these allegories, you’re my beauty of a ghoul.
-A phantom spectrum, a black to touch type of weapon,
Allocating epinephrine towards every type of razor steppin’.
Dangerous, blunt to the touch, kind of ambiguous,
Kind of morally deceiving, yet so gentle and deliberate.
Equivalent, to every type of love you’ve encountered with,
Every crossed counterfeit form of how you handle it.
A vandal writ upon a page, a white-taped outline,
A chalked body image, and a bloodstained resign.
She’s the type to dismantle your stability,
Disrupting your tranquility, like the bygone to your hostility.
Drilling me, nothing but anonymity sharp to the tongue,
A double-edged sword with the mouth of a loaded gun.
-A hand cannon, a heroic class of one-hit annihilation,
A vile disgrace pinned, against the wall along with inflation.
Common relation among thieves, who pity Thebes and scholars,
The city of evil, relieve me of all my creed and hollers.
Whipped and collared, standing taller than my own injustice,
She provokes oppression, and an régime of the fallen with Augustus.
Busted, crushed with her own persecution of lovers,
Like ten nights and winters, isolated with all her sinners.
-The last dinner, no supper for those who don’t deserve of it,
She kills with her words and moshes tribal routines in pits.
Crips clapping blue, and crews destroyed as they approach her,
A devil’s work, a monstrosity upon anything that’s not kosher.
Undeniable in nature, an unstoppable force,
An immovable object with teeth whiter than porcelain.
Divorce rates flourishin’, her arrogance increases pressure in the torr again,
Boring uncivilized men, attracting elegance as she tramples them.
A whorish woman, a delicacy among the stoned and rebels,
A level higher than all trebles of base and hilt stilettos.