Timothy

Jack's Twisted Kingdom
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2009-11-04 05:34:14 (UTC)

A Lachrymose Crux


Shift. I shift. We shift. Left.
Time passes onwards in spirals,
lashing out inwardly with the
finite bile of aged waxed wine
thusted it, we run, crush it,
we dine on amber coloured eyes

glittered outwardly, the gaze of
them that thought we'd crumble
be'twixed the rose covered thighs
of our favored virgins gasping
at sheer resounding soft kissed
lips wrapped in ivory'd teeth

but she looks, away, far to the
left, pulsating arms bled away
such fears of sublimation we
can only watch the in a haze
past the fogged lense of our
periphery visons lusting egos

flashed, flushed, exhaustion
reigns, shattered soul on the
bricked walls flailing towards
what was done in cool dawning
hour, the ember flicked rain
sputters on as it downpours ash

blurring lines, her eyes that
perfect shade of riven brown
bloodstained amber shredded us
with melon-baller precision,
caused us to blink, eyeless,
lidless, carved out dimmed husks

she wept. I wept. we wept. All
of use tier'd the abyssal wave
dragging us soundlessly to that
singular lust inflicted desire,
and in the end, we simply said,
love not, love is, love shall

weep.


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