Sunday, September 6, 2009

coldblood boiling

this nectar of fortune is yours to taste and figure out how to swallow. i hope it favors you
i am the animal
i yearn for the sinew and the lace, that composes your delicate frame. 

the ritual of defeat is to pray to your god.
but you
you dont breathe a word

i dream of fur matted with forest of blood i dream of waking you
we will never run together
a coward is isolated and destroyed


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