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From the Closet and the MindFrom the Closet and the Mind
(Your breath I do smell, it emanates from your paled, chalky lips, how pinkish they are, though, I shan't place a kiss.)
It is never nothing you foolish mass, widen your eyes and do not hide; now I will abuse you, do not plead for your life, your nerves are pathetic, I am your pride.
This mass I am, this living mass, a glutton which shan't count your 'precious' sheep, abandoned you are in hopes and dreams, I only wish for you not to sleep.
(The droplets of water sink down from your scalp, how I wish to tear out its brownish color, oh, an idea, quite a lovely one, I shall sew and use it for a coat to wear.)
The door shivers in fear, out does IT beg, the knobs which turn are a simple distraction, IT yearns for your flesh and blood within; fresh linens and dolls shan't frighten IT away.
(I observe your form, how it shivers and jiggles, quite tasty you seem, though, you do appear sore..)
The door has fallen, stare
The Disfigured FamilyMother, mother, on the door he pounds, candy he brings us of a glass-like house, enter he may, or may he will; your life is speckled of this 'loving' spouse.
Father, father, our mother is mad, she swings and slices without her hand, a candied entrance to cleave our bodies; is she lost this dearly without demand?
Sister, sister, they are most certainly lost, a moss grown in them with a missing frost, shall we bury our givens and run from their favour; jobless and wealthy is their steep cost.
Myself, myself, all have slain low, shall you speak not a word and sail a river to flow, may you enter or leave, is it now or no; farewell my plagued members, I must now go.
Such ThingsFleece of a mortal to sing blandly and cluster, a knife without ebony but persistent as snow,
let us dance to the nightshade and cloud veins with blue luster, the rivers sink deeply, through sharp bells do they flow.
A calming noise to envelop but a cause never to follow, a stake open and bloody, without shame does it pour, shallow doors cast them drowning without a mellow complexion, obsessed we are not; drain such thoughts through the floor.
Eyes dreamt of a desert to seal our donations, a compact once secluded with titanium and glass, refrain from their freedom and ashen their horrors, darkness pays with cold fires, and never once without class.
Within Drawers We HideWithin drawers we hide with eyes gleaming like sliver, combinations of flows with fleeces of spells, the children lie sleeping with ears open to slumber, shaded witches we are, always grasping bronzed bells.
Into their meek bodies slither deep do our limbs, crawling within fleshy organs, thus, planting our faults, hear us not scratching further to pierce crimson rivers, dreamless sleepers they are; tendons leak as they waltz.
Through dark grottoes of nameless we grace upon acid, gently padding their bodies with a silicone-like press, it may appear to degrade them, although, not a muscle dare tremble; our work is complete within this dear guest.
Race out of their motionless we do with blue hearts, our symbols burnt neatly with a touch of sugar, to others we soar on wings built gently, into hiding we glide, never once do we shiver.
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
SolaceShe never slept well in the dark,
not without the children of the sun and moon
to guide her weary lids home.
Guided by the aftermath, she was always two steps behind.
What did the world look like to the girl who had been through it all?
Braved the heaviest of storms,
yet skipping over cracks in the pavement.
They said her eyes were the wisps of clouds before the storm.
To him they were reflections of pages overlooked.
She said it was like she lived the life of someone she had never met.
Laid out to dry, yesterdays news.
He knew her as the girl who was built to never collapse.
He wished he was too.
He loved her more than words could say, and yet her pain was such,
that at times, he feared she wouldn’t make it.
But on nights like these, even when it threatened to consume her,
he became convinced that somehow she would.
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