Untill Your Heart Stops

A parasite that lost its appetite,
and what he calls his own
is yours to clean for.
Walk with a weapon
and fight just to see
what draws the line
between the now and yesterday.
Scenes from the past,
premonitions all too real.
We dwell like antique paintings,
older every day, older every day.
Until a thief steals you from the wall,
in the shadows of creative eclipses.
I've noticed your handwriting improve
over the years, though sometimes
I can still smell shit in the ink.
I can't clean this stain of a little boy,
and sadly I am trapped in here for good.
Locked my door and read these cryptic pieces
a hundred-thousand times more.
Simmering the need of peace that crushes the awake.
Dwelling like antique paintings, older every day.
Aimless is the mind on porcelain pillows.
And we dwell like antique paintings, older every day.