Cry of a Libertine

My sick infatuation with the cancer of your mind.
My hopes of laceration into your sweet goodbyes.
Liberty, my imagination drifts into a kiss
Of rats that crawl from lips to lips and make us both so sick.

Your pained initiation to taint that what is clean
And make me blood relation to correlate our screams.
Slavery is unified atop deflowered beds.
Now rats feast within our bodies with you and I both dead.

But I'm the Queen of Misery, this Devil's sickest spawn,
The Queen that was of Liberty is all that's far too gone.
Now every scream will fall, they're whips upon my flesh
And I will cry those burning lies that leave me longing death.

Our freak abomination that we long to call our love
Is simply the castration of what are Mourning Doves.
Psychotic, we hallucinate deluded sickly moans.
Rat infested home, beauty flesh, now my love's a vulgar throne.

The dead eradication of that vermin, the disease
Leave's us comtemplation to kill that bloodied sneeze.
Narcotic, we inseminate, we immunise our cries
That leave our rats to feast upon no more than hungry flies.

I am the Queen of Liberty, I choose my misery.
I am the Queen, I do decree that you may never leave.
So stay with me, I beg of thee, keep warm your lover's breast.
Too late I cry, I rule alone this plague that is my death.

I am the Queen, no liberty in sickness and in sloth.
I am the Queen, a birthed disease and heir to filthy cloth.
I am the Queen! I am the Queen! Of that you must believe,
But all you'll ever see in me is the sick that ever grieves!