You place me in a tight grasp,
As your cold, ghostly fingers tighten
Around my life line.
You pump black hell through my veins
And whisper
POUNDING drums in my ears.
You take my body and plunge
it into a hysterical (5) year old,
Not getting his presents for Christmas;
To being on flames,
To being in the fright of the lights on the stage,
To the I don't, I don't, I don't know,
To the anguish of a blanket
Suffocating my woes.
You are my enemy, my best friend,
You are my poison, my drug, my love.
And yes, you certainly,
Without doubt,
Will be the death of me.
