The holy water is poison

Your words are like a .45 caliber infatuation. Splattering my soul against the off-white backround in my temple of masochistic desire and ritualistic deity denial. Today, you are a god because I can feel your presence as it takes away my innocence. I need you more than you need me. I'd give anything to see you here once again, sustaining my limber disposition. You could grasp my fate with a kiss and stop my breathing with one simple conviction. One sin to prepare for a world of decadence. I no longer miss you. I want you dead. I want to see the body, decayed and six feet under the wasteland junkyard of a burned out meth lab in the dirtiest of towns in the center of an AIDS epidemic. Maybe the black plague would be more suitable for my demise, you always insisted on tearing my flesh away. Your touch was sodomy to its greatest extent. If a killer can plead temporary insanity, why can't I?