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VaseI emptied the vasetoday; let the memoriesdie of neglect.
Take Me To A Place Where There's No LightMy dear, take me to a place where there's no light.To a place where the darkness will conceal your beauty.To shroud you in majestic mystery.My dear, take me to a place where the light won't hold sway.Where each touch is cold as ice.Where your words are a whisper's breath.My dear, let us close the gates of light, for only then may our love truly burn bright.
DownfallAnd in this dark harvest of seasonMy life has completely lost reason,For which or against to decide.All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tideIn sadness and in kindnessIn light and in darkness.In a boat made of hopeI shall sail to tomorrow,In a winding hurricaneMade of treachery and sorrow.There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...Piercing, slashing though my head.Starting somewhere in heaven,Ending somewhere in hell.Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.Are the armies within.In my head they are all thrashing.On the heaven's and hell's whim.To be light or to be darkness.A perpetual array.It's not merely my choice,But the choice of the way.It's an option of the voice,It's a thin line of gray.Is it a choice forced by fate,Is it a pre-set time and date?Or a choice to which I myself sway?But here's our story anyway
."Nothing that I do will matter.As all things will merely shatter!"All my hopes thus darkness scatter,As it shoves me a decree.As it si
Haters gonna hate"You're not bi-sexual, you're a whore.""Begging for attention, and nothing more."I've heard all of these things today,And frankly, I'm pissed, and have this to say:Fuck you.No poetry, no words of rhyme.Nothing wasted on you, no more of my time.
All Hallows EveThey say that on this night the witches ride,that spirits walk and churchyards spew their dead. It isn’t true. It’s said the stench of hell infects the earthand healths of heated blood are downed. But Hamlet lied. The dead know nothing, the living less. There are only poets with blood-nibbed pens;souls hung between high heaven and deep hell.
White Picket LifeWhy would I want a womanbaked like a pie -warm apple bettyand eyes berry bluewith too much joy?I don't want that white picket lifeor tears on my pillowbegging me to be gentlewhen the moon is pressingbetween our thighs.Spare me the meek smiles,the dress softly unfoldingyou over my bedand any kind of breezedisturbing my thoughts.Much better to give meyour rockets and sore limbsaching with too much rust,those roughhewn breastsand cheeks of brazen flush,that shiver,and invitation to disturb your fleshin ways that make usgrab the air,that crack in breathingunderneath my ribs,and all your gloryshooting wholesin the white.