Customary Impurity

I climbed over the tracks
I climbed over the fence to our cemetary
This is our cemetary
High on PCP knuckle deep in that little is left of me
Tears stream down my face and I whimper on your grave straddling your grave
The chill penetrates but stimulates and fills me
A train rolls passed and shakes the corpses in their caskets drowning out my coarse
And hungry howl cum while I cut myself and then I fall to sleep visions of your sunken eyes
And purple lips between my swollen things eating at the better part of me