by Noise Pollution

There’s cyanide
in rooms with kitchen knives
and where my problems lie
like cyanide.

There’s broken glass
around these so clearly passed
overused metaphors
like broken glass.

Your chords of steel have been unnerving.
You took them to my throat of glass.
shattered all my words
battered up my world.
And everything just falls apart.

And of course,

there’s cyanide
poured into these blacklights
around the so called curse of night
like cyanide.

There’s tempered steel
in all the things you feel
I know you can’t feel
like tempered steel.

And those chords you made from steel have been disturbing.
You screamed and tore apart my throat of glass.
Shattered all my words
with just a single verse.
And everything just falls apart.

And I know nothing about sex that’s not
seeped somewhat in revenge.
I felt it just to prove something
to all my shitty friends.
and to my ex girlfriends,
who could forget about them?

I was supposed to.

but I do lots of things I’m not supposed to.

And that’s why
there’s cyanide
draped across your lies
hung like curtains wide
like cyanide.

Like cyanide.