Miles Away

And signs of abuse

Getting here didn't prove to be the hard part.
Carrying poison, ever smiling lightly
Stumbling through random expressions of courteousness
-I'm here to sell you death, in an expensive package Mrs Charleston.
Keeping the will to fall into decadence, was the tough about it.
I've been struggling their war outside to get here;
Wearing weary, damp clothes i rambled through your doorway, eager to show you Dandelions.
Rusty voice and with anise in my breath, the words my lady I'll do for free
Teaching the art of searching, I'm slowly caving in.
Fancy sentences of self-deceiving, louring you deeper within