King of blackout

Broken bones and sinew,
He is the king of blackout

He stares into your eyes, you couldn't care less, he wonders if it will ever be the same, for hours, he wonders if it ever was.
He snorts a line and lights his smoke, gets you another drink.
Maybe if you'll forget yourself - so could he.

His stabwounds mature into scars,
he is the bleeder fleeting from your butterfly knife.

He pictures you in his mind, ugly and uncaring.
"get the fuck out out of me" echoes through his skull.
You enjoy the way he observes the V of your shirt, no, he wouldn't mind losing his mind between your thights, as you already know he will.
He shuffles through magazines and photos, cracking down with each glimpse, in a desperate attempt to find someone who wouldn't remind him of you.

Eyelash and mascara, you are forever his queen of blackout.

His knees hit the floor, self esteem following in a rapid succession.
You slow his breath down to a sigh and pry his mouth open in a revolt speech to a lifelong tyranny over his conciousness.
Far beyond the point of no return he keeps staring into your dark, careless eyes.
Overdosed on glory, he is a crumbling man.

For hours, he's trying to fall asleep.
Passion,pain,lust, constant guild and recklessness.

Nothing but a beautiful bouquet for your dust bin.