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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Gothic · #1259605
Feeling conflict with life and death. Getting out of it.
Rabid vultures tear apart my insides while I stare in the mirror at my inner beauty being torn away. Nothing short of a manic shockwave down my spine killing and paralyzing me. Stupid mistakes and endangering responses to loneliness just continue to make me malevolent and weird. Fuck this stupid world with it's rigor mortis appeal and all that's sacred can burn in the hell that it hath created. Blew my life on a dumb whore tragedy with murder on the mind. Not a real death, but a preacher's quarrel. A dead angry five fingered soul shoots an arrow into my genitalia destroying the fiber of my humanity. Should I resist? Kill the metamorphasis? I've been a devil's slave for a long time. Put the sword of the spirit through my empty hole of a heart and kilter the silence I'll have seeping through the sewer's of myself. Trick me into becoming your false circumstance. Love and hate the blood I bleed for this. Strip me of my dignified bloodflower shadow. I'm a naked rotting saturn lying in front of you. Feel this shame. Feel me. Feel the wrath of a hundred angry blood thirsty serial killers. Stop the vile insides from coming out. Be a tourniquet for my hell. As I keep bleeding the princes come out to collect their fill. Loving the minutes of humiliation. Feel this. Now we have no ability to fight. One more breath. One more breath. Beg for one more breath. One to fight the world on. One more breath.
© Copyright 2007 Star Necromaniac (crippledvein at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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