You fucked the structure of my body
until my bones jutted out at perpendicular
angles. Baby, I can't fit your frame forever,
because my soul is dilapidated
and disease flows through my veins
towards my heart. My arteries are racked
with virus nowadays as if you carved
memories of us within the walls of my capillaries.
There's a mixed joy in knowing that in today's
day and age, I no longer need to blame
blood transfusions, but I still refuse to believe
that people still adhere to the myth
that this is a gay disease. At this point,
it's venereal, not sexual, and you've
infected me with the blues.
I find no joy in bending your will
like the rusted over strings on my guitar,
but baby, this ain't a love song cause
I learned real quick how cliche that shit gets.
There are times where we discuss invincibility,
but I think you forget that sometimes,
eternity isn't inscribed upon the pupils
you gaze into; I have an expiration date,
and baby, I'm so sorry, but we're all
gonna die someday.
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