I n n e r · H e l l

DAY AFTER DAY, LOVE TURNS GREY
LIKE THE SKIN OF A DYING MAN.
NIGHT AFTER NIGHT,
WE PRETEND ITS ALL RIGHT
BUT I HAVE GROWN OLDER AND
YOU HAVE GROWN COLDER AND
NOTHING IS VERY MUCH FUN ANY MORE.
AND I CAN FEEL ONE
OF MY TURNS COMING ON.
I FEEL COLD AS A RAZOR BLADE,
TIGHT AS A TOURNIQUET,
DRY AS A FUNERAL DRUM.
RUN TO THE BEDROOM,
IN THE SUITCASE ON THE LEFT
YOULL FIND MY FAVORITE AXE.
DONT LOOK SO FRIGHTENED
THIS IS JUST A PASSING PHASE