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glassy echo, reflecting
repulsion
There, at the turning of your lips
Words you want to say, willing still
Anger swirling behind dark eyes
They walk calmly
Anything but
Appearance is a veil
I saw you once
Unguarded
Without your battlement
The disguise lay strewn
With other stolen objects
Mere indents in a soft bed
Your madness at the surface
Like a Hydra you panted
For release and weapons
None heard this request
All of you is secreted within layers
No one can unravel
You divide and multiply in your apparent cruelty
There is a token of delight
A brand for some and your bequeathing
Some are not set on this Earth for kindness
They live by the stain left in their wake
An imprint of harm
Slow the leash trains unwilling
Gradual uncovering, sin takes her high chair
In the pit of things you writhe nude and tarnished
We make our own hell with toys of old
Those picture books of loss and shame, shackles for the weary
I could pick you now,
a yellow rose,
your nectar just on the verge.
The Bard asked “where is fancy bred?”
And where too its dark twin that must inflict?
In what school is bitterness taught?
Who forged chains to shackle joy
To causing pain?
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Ah! Yes!
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Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
TheFeatheredSleep – Something like a bruise
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xo
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🙂
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Amazing. Simply magnificent. ❤
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