at the top of their lungs
searching for nirvana
between the thighs
of a lovely woman
in rome
i want to believe in
love, the future, a
destiny deserving
of all this pain
but i’ve choked on
my disillusionment
since i was a child
one night it’s
the bottle
the next night it’s
a butcher’s knife
thrown across
the room
there isn’t any love
in the room if someone
isn’t screaming at
the top of their lungs
i’m still searching
for nirvana
soft skin on a
sunny beach
worries swept away
with the tide
not all sins can be
washed with blood
or simply brushed
under the last dirty
rug in the house
Horror Sleaze Trash 