Smooth lies cut from her mouth, its like creamy extacy butter.
Severed tongue lay with poison still linger on the buds.
Weak minds always fall for the simplest of the seductive purr.
Dancing past the witches hour, beauty has the world once again.
Such is all illusions of life when high. She is a pro at this sick pill game.
Only once the drugs come does her world feel less like crying.
With vicodin running strong her body was melting into the bed.
Skin sticking to the mattress wishing she wasnt on her own.
Loving herself too much when drunk caused hatred when sober.
Only herself to blame, using such methods to banish her pain