Each year during the witching hour 
   on all hallows' eve
      silver shreds of soul
  surface to haunt the lover 
      the catalyst to her suicide
  
An occurrence took place 
   three years prior
  at a costume party
      a freshly annihilated heart 
   held together with the tenacity 
      to survive 
          cursed hysteria
     insanity forged 
         inside the oubliette 
             
Advised to avoid the action
    of a pleaded tear induced cry
     the lover who was thought
 to be genuine was one of manipulation 
 similar to a piece of the purest 
  pink bubble gum played 
           in between 
      teeth and tongue 
          while soft bubbles explode 
    on an unexpected face 
         aroma coated bliss
        a child like innocence 
    devastated with a reality 
        that combusts one's inner core 
             bred betrayal  
    effortless to destroy 
 unable to feel a quarter note beat 
   in its stead a hemidemisemi quaver 
      speed to rupture the slit 
   a reality that never existed 
      deleted fantasy and resolve
  with a brain that guards
          and blocks 
      shared memory 

    Float over the bed
       the lover who played 
    and lost the one pure piece
       of his essence 
          a sorrowful haunt 
     established to peak regret 
         not pain 
  
   Avenge the massacre that slashed 
       one body who relinquished 
           the fight 
      breathless 
  surround by a thick red syrup 
        which should taste divine 
   masqued by cruelty 
       and a shit eating grin
           even in sleep 
     motionless
         pathetic 
             dead