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I do not see you, have you left me behind?
Did something more spectacular enthrall your mind?
It seems that way, for I am not blind, you've left me here to rot and bind.
To lurk in the shadows and be caught in the rains, you've left me to burden all of your pains.
Forgotten I'll be, trapped in the dark, but that's alright for my soul is stark.
UntitledDeprived of self-satisfaction, shall I remove the remaining stain?
Lost in a chaotic wonderland, the only inhabitant is pain.
Just drop all the liquid lies, they consume your soul and rob your eyes.
Taking here and mauling there, slicing the past without a tear.
Elimination is the key, to the one who is blind but can also see.
Bring to her your stains of time, and she will mend them and make them mine.
I'm thoroughly done, lock my soul in the cage, leave my body to decay with age.
Place me in the corner, remove all the lights, let me not see all the abusive fights.
Let the ambient souls speak to my own, for they have keys that are mine, fiercely unknown.
Place my blood in the black circle of pathways, empty my flesh into the cage beneath, decorate my eyes with silver teardrops, and embalm my crushed bones into the wreath.
Paint my soul with memories and time, be sure to place them in order of rhyme.
And once the ritual is finally complete, whisper the words, "to end without defeat."
Emotionless and BlandEmotionless and bland, distorted and pale, these are names I've been forced to inhale.
Centuries forward and centuries behind, they were engraved into my soul and mind.
Left only there for the purpose of time, I began to love them and make them mine.
United we slaughtered, united we fell, together we raced, but left separate to Hell.
Alas, beyond the cage we're in, we'll soon break free and annihilate the twin.
The twin, who trapped us together as one, she laughed and she cried for she viewed it as "fun."
We will slit open her throat and suck out her blood, leave her to rot in the flesh-colored mud.
Her corpse will sink deep into the filth she created, sealing the pathway and keeping us gated.
Gated from her shenanigans and protected by rhyme, our engagement has been completed and we now rest with time.
Needles upon needles and spring upon stones, your flesh must be torn and removed from your bones.
At half-past five when the painted crow sings, you'll then be taken to room eleven and removed of your things.
First goes your skin, such a painful task, though you'll witness it all with a mirrored mask.
Next goes your bones, they must be ground fine, for they'll be sent to the creature that desires to dine.
And once only your blood remains, I will devour it majestically, for it'll heal my pains.
Start the flames and pour in the water, dinner will be made of the wise man's daughter.
She came into our house, she did, and put her nasty fingers in the trap we hid.
Simple cookies caught her eye, their fresh appearance made her laughing mouth cry.
And here is she is, about to die, let's chop her up, and leave her to fry.
For, we are the witches, the nasty witches, the ones that kill children and their twitches.
We fry them up like eggs and ham, later preserving their intestines for jam.
How wicked we are, indeed, indeed, for we are witches not born from pure seeds.
A GardenPorcelain lilies weeping in the pond, how emotionless and fragile their faces are.
Demonic statues paralyzed in the garden, each one fell from above a star.
Tattered leaves scattered across the pathway, cracking and floating away like glass.
In order to enter this magnificent garden, your proof must be displayed from your past.
MalformedMalformed, a cursed name you've called us countless times.
You beseech us to remove our masks so you may carve into passed times.
I think not, for your ideas have not a drop of sheer power.
The three of us together will shred your bleached soul within the hour.
Still yourself you impudent worm, you'll be released of your cage, once it's your turn.
Slither and screech for as long you desire, no matter your judgment you'll become malformed in the fire.
UntitledSwiftly cursing from one to the next, witness in the air the flesh-colored text.
Etching itself into the mindless brains, with each soul consumed its power gains.
Observe their activities straightforward and done, they dare not look upon anything except for the sun.
Clouded by falsity and crystalized tales, before them lies years of unfortunate fails.
And shall you become a mindless clone?
It's up to my sister, if you choose not to live alone.
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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