Banksoya Sauce Biography

I will never know your body.
I will never feel it pressed onto mine:
For desperation, for love, for comfort.
...

Oh, to rot at your touch,
To lay next to your motionless body,
To wait for my skin to morph into yours;
Growing colder, second by second.
...

The freshness of my skin,
The ripeness of my age,
The taste of tar on my lips.
...

How unbearable is it truly
To be the witness of someone's rotting?
To see the weeds entangle their feet?
To see them tying the knot of destiny?
...

Meeting his gaze, a familiar fog occurs:
Blocking my sight, closing my throat.
This comforting blindless
Now is merely a passing moment.
...