Edgar

edgar, you're a heart eating canibal; i swear,

preyed on my soul, picked it apart with pink

tinted nails, while whispering raven colored

lyrics in tongue tied strains, her body ached.

a beautiful unbecoming, you said to me; she

simply screamed for a sinner's delicacy; then,

when days became poverty's raven, you drank,

you drank impossibilities (calling'em prophecies)

for centuries, then claimed them as you're own.

edgar honey, what does that poetry mean? 'cause

all that's sewn to skin is the forgotten confessions

and sun dipped tragedies; & know, she's no saint,

even if her eternity claimed your lips whispering

as though you're the savior to our dreams. yet,

i suppose cadavers are distinct immortalities & 

nightmares are dreams that've soaked reality.