He convinced me my cathedrals were trinkets and worth pennies on the black market.
He spoke death into my sleep and said it was me.
He said murder was the only way for him to breath and my asthma was not allowed.
He prescribed my inhibition, he lived in recognition of my hurts and said,
"Oh darling, there are pills for that. There's a cure for that, for your broken
down Honda Civic heart, for your atriums and aortas that were pulled apart and
just won't do their job. But I am not a doctor."
He was a shark, only moving forward, calling on my soul
whenever his lonely needed it's fix.
