Wake up as the smell of shit and vomit seeds into my senses.
Shards of glass pierce my feet as I stumble to the toilet.
Coughing blood and gastric acid, stench becomes unbearable.
Snort a line of meth before I get back into bed with my love.
I know she loves me. The way that I am. Death won't part us.
I can still get down on her cold dead snatch when I want to. No saying no to anal.
But lately the smell's becoming fucking nasty.
Spray me with faeces and vermin as I invade your pus-infested asshole.
Last time I washed her must've been the day she died.
Throat slit with a kitchen knife. It was nothing but a silly accident.
Since then, the flies have found their places, invading every single crevice.
The burning under my foreskin has changed from nuisance to necessity.
Got to clean this fucking mess up. But first I need to pack this bowl.
My nerves need calming. My room needs airing now!
Wait for night-time. Can't be seen now, who knows what the neighbours know.
I'll have to go out to feed my munchies later on. I've always loved her.
The way that she was. Nothing changes.
Even after death she still has her place in my heart and bed.