She is a saint
Her womb is a place of rejection
She washes her perfect skin quietly
and hates me for being real
Kill the lights and listen for noises to give you away
Sanctuary
I need a place where I can feel…
John James Hewitt (1931-1969) The Orchard: «It feels like we’re all locked up in little cages»
«The ceiling is closing in, and the walls…
The walls are closing in — Can’t you feel that?»
I will turn my eyes away
I will not turn into stone
No more accusations and lies
She’s spreading her self
Flesh giving way to flesh
I watch her bones
I’m being eaten alive
Remove the eyes
Remove the eyes
Remove intentions and kill the lights
Her love is a blinding line of fire to where I stand
Her love is as cold as her desire
I’ll never be free
