The Demons born and bred in my brain
Pristine Beauty in the smells I pick up.
Come home.
And sterile hardness beneath limp body.
Lips that tremble with something beyond sadness
And fingers that curl around never ending hopes.
This is my pristine beauty.
Are my own to keep.
The cage fashioned in my heart
Is my own in which to sleep.
My heart, on my sleeve, bleeds.
My body, aching for release, decays.
I die for him.
Perfume in heavy doses from the bottle,
Broken on the floor.
Bitter smoke as I exhale my pristine life.
The smooth, red scent of his blood in mind.
All overpowered by my Pristine Loneliness.