Death Is An Experienced Lover

As polygamous as this is, it sure feels like I'm the only one. The living mass doesn't understand it, it's the benefit of looking at it while standing up.

We're in love. He fought for me, he didn't come in peace, I tossed and turned and they said it was a bad dream, I screamed for help and they said it was lack of attention that made my world so dim, I cried and tore my hair off and they said drugs would end the gimmicks, they called it a film.

He fought for me, he came at a slow pace as if to give me time to run, then at my funeral, I heard someone say, it was so unexpected like lost virginity from a nun. I wanted to come back to life, but death wrapped me in his arms, reminded me that life never loved me enough, so I stayed down.

We're in love. He fought for me. And I know I'm not the only one he stays with me and that's all I need, take it from me, Word Smith. He's the type of lover that you read about, the one you spend your diary pages on, the one you pray about, the one you hoped would pay the dowry but you never got.

He's a fairytale wrapped in misconceptions of what the breathing thought, and any time they get the chance, they like to dress him in black clothes, but that doesn't change a thing once you know, he's rare breed, made to live underneath.

 He's nothing quite like you've ever had, I say he's the best thing you'll never have, but best believe, to him, you're a whole menu, and it includes dessert. He's a warm lover, nothing sexual but there's some type of healing, if you know where your heart is then you know what I'm feeling, he's a home built specifically for me, it's more than just what you're reading. Death is an experienced lover, and boy does he love me.