Pompeii As A Metaphor

i drink from your cup to feel i’m alive.
i swallow this whole to define myself.
i wait this out though time kills all things…
but touch is a luxury ill-afforded, and its underneath my skin…
and this is all just an accident waiting to happen.
a trap waiting to be sprung.
(i’m not entirely convinced that you’re not the worst idea i’ve ever had)…
and in the end i don’t know up from down.
in the end i don’t know who’s the victim.