Funny was it not.

Let it bleed
Of all innocence left unbeknown
In patronised beauty
Glamed up in unashamed glory

Darling you don’t need to fret
Not yet at least
For I cannot see your face

Funny isn’t it
How we make a man squirm
How he feels the preasure all to easily under a slight glare

Funny wasn’t it
When we make a man moan
Only because we knew it was short lived
Playing on strings
To a song that has already finished its path

Funny how it is
How we can make a man bleed
Cut him open
And suck him dry
Of all things inherited by life and death

Gory blood of my shameless test
As if I danced upon the woe of all escape

Funny how I caught you
Tied you up in withering promises
Smile at least
Don’t you think it was funny?
Was it not funny my dear?
When it was happening to you.

Funny how you could make me squirm
File me out and plead for help
Funny how you made me moan
Running in torment of a well lived dream
Funny was it not.
Was it not.
How you made me bleed
Cut me open
Pulled out my heart and soul.

Did you not
Did I not.
Was it not,
But a game.
Just a pitiful rule less game
We played unaware
Or aware
That death be the only way of winning
And loosing.
And tieng us up with blood running from poor wounds
That only us ourselves died to get
Rather than lived seperately and bleed alone
We played each other lonely and,
Or abused..
Free falling for sorrows demanding escape
Yet there you danced
Standing tests of time
A red wine in hand and pills to make it all so easier.
Yes that I think was indeed funny.