Glass pressed to my lips,
liquid dark and murky,
wreaking of rot and decay.
In my ear you whisper 'Trust Me'.
Because I want to believe, I do.
Lies, cruel words, and broken promises
pour into me;
I am filled with your ill intentions.
Stomach contracts,
wanting to dispel its vile contents.
You tell me you love me,
so I drink every last drop.
Like Alice, I feel myself shrinking,
and become a speck of the person I was.
The Cure 'Lullaby'
Friday, March 22, 2019
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