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the_author
What was created is cremated. - Subscribe
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I Close my eyes and open my arms to a killer, My Dahlia, my prying Pandora. She wants to find this before it kills her, With her porcelain face now fractured like a sad, beautiful winter. Completely manufactured. Feeding me secret answers when all along the rapture told otherwise. A manifesto of lies. Her hope, befit of a disaster . Tell me if you take stabs at passion, or find it easy to forget that the heavens burn like branches? Enthuse me. While I go through the motions of caring; note kindness in her is like the failure of a killer. Only accidental. So, please, spare me final dramas, and your passions, and your traumas. There's nothing here to save. And although you're breathing in your grave, it's still unmistakable. You have been crowned. And now, the death befit of a queen. I may be crawling through knives, but you can't hide what's happened all along. |
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the_author
Post-Mortem Aphrodite Feb 15th, 2007 1:09:51 pm - Subscribe
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Bestowed with secrets and fantasies of finality, your fricative words created sweat on me; tempting screams out of me. The hurting that could hurt so sweetly. Dreams of blood coursing through arteries and my sad artistry as I draw lines on you. Seething with passion and Teething on the razor in my mouth. I stared at the light falling off billboards tonight, thinking of what is not. As bodies on them like yours glow white and rot the skyline like a rash. Not as beautiful as yours, as Beauty becomes so much more potent when destroyed. These ones lacked luster, for the lines, our lines, they would not have drawn. The lines we prayed to in coarse breath at dawn. While our chimera's collected like clouds connecting in a storm of macabre want. There was a safety found in our static pauses, and the bodies you'd only show to me. I found something there, amid our chaotic affaire de coeur A courtship between surgeons. My eidolon birthed in you. It's dark, It's wrong, and it's in me too. But only with you. My aphdrodite in a body bag. |