At the Gallery with Orphans.She cuts open her centerpiece her lips of plastic and glitter, such a smile of blood and limp flesh, such a kiss joined by vomit and disgust.At the Gallery with Orphans.
Lipbalm makes the fake line up in envy. Lipstick makes the wounded beg for mercy.
Emily pops out her centerpieces her eyes of glass and fairydust, such a tear of glitter and glue, such a glare from Peter Pan & Tinkerbell.
Eyeliner makes the whores line up to gossip. Eyeshadow makes the holes in your sockets bigger.
I am the apple of your eye, in the blender to mutilate further.
I am you
Awaiting Moths...Kill the flies that weep in the doorway, and whisper forgotten words in their dismay.Awaiting Moths...
Their legs will be ripped off, their eyes poked out, their wings will be burned, and you, my dearest, will cry in their memory.
Burn the centre house down in the village, and scream the forgotten words hidden in november.
The moths and ants scream, and their voices wont stop ringing in my ears.
Have I lost my mind, like I lost myself when I fell in love with you?
I devoured my dreams and turned the loving outwards.
This distruct
An afternoon at 4 o'clock.Sick dolls of pale blue swear at me with their mouths of razorblades and their tongues of bleeding flesh.An afternoon at 4 o'clock.
I breathe in their breath of sulfur; such a sweet aroma mingled with English Breakfast Tea, would you care to sit and drink with me, would you care to stay and eat of me?
The dolls get on their little knees and pray to their master of puppetry, can you hear it? Can you hear their adoring plea?
I breathe in their breath of sulfur as they murmur:"Can we eat her? Can we please?" Would you care to join them in this feast? Would you care to join
Of Cats and Rape Wounds.Not all things speak of child molestation, most do so quietly, and others not at all.Of Cats and Rape Wounds.
Not all things speak of violence, most do so quietly, and others not at all.
Not all things are as they seem, but most are, and others are ashamed.
Not all poetry speaks of love, most do so loudly, and others not at all.
Not all poetry speaks of self mutilation, but most noticed do, and others not at all.
Not all things are as they seem, yet most are... And many are ashamed.
Electrotheraphy.
Tired
Thanks for adding me!!
How are you Miss Wonderful?
*smiles.................wings
fluttering softly*
You have been featured [link]
Please
Wish you a nice day,
L
--
"Remember today, little brother. Today, life is good."
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