My flesh Is the rotting sculpture, As I will see you nurturing it. I want to open my lips, Though they are encased By death's embrace. Your obsession Is tiring to my decaying self. I've wanted to kiss Your face in the idlest moments. I've wanted to kiss Your skin in the fire of combined hours. My face does tell a tale Of something, As nothing more pale Than the pages left blank. My eyes upon you Are the deadest. You are the life that I've wanted, As I have come to abandon.