My lips pressed against your empty breast.
New tastes stacked inside your crowded chest.
Steam rises and fogs the widows on every door.
The soul ignites the flames at the earths core.
An old mission becomes a war,
And weeks alone become much more than
Fodder for the old couple next door.
Ruins collapse under the exposure of life,and
salt in the wounds exits foamy and white.
With surgical like precision lines are cut from the body of reason.
And a punch in the stomach is the sound of the season.
