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Haggard with a bed stroke
Your hands, glinting daggers
Blood let drip from your eyes
Stabbing insecurity and cry
Call awkwardly west toward
Riseth he, the moon child
Steering low phantasmal blue
Wraith coils relevance
The staggered breathing
Wind to which a devil turned
Pale cult masochism
Weep wearily folklore
They can't all be beautiful
Death knells stride the gypsy
Glamor condenses fascination
Stuttering staccato banishment
The numberless fiction
Bright black punishing grandeur
Such to learn is a dreamer
Birthing nightmare rigor stones
The crevasse was sealing
That gypsy face is all I see
Dusk bowl angel
Kill myself, as a blessing
- by Cottoncandyocbra3 |
- Poetry And Lyrics
- | Submitted on 05/25/2009 |
- Skip
- Title: Trauma Is Real
- Artist: Cottoncandyocbra3
- Description:
- Date: 05/25/2009
- Tags: trauma real
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Comments (3 Comments)
- Kay Haye - 05/25/2009
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I meant Ginsberg. But I can't be arsed writing that out again.
Once more, a round of applause for you! - Report As Spam
- Kay Haye - 05/25/2009
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I like the staccato tone of this... A bit like a half-heard prayer. I'm guessing that that's what you're going for.
I'd substitute 'sacrifice' for 'kill', though, in the final line. Other than that, I can't find any faults.
Well done sir, well done.
(Oh, and I'm getting a kind of Ginsburg-influenced vibe off this. Am I right?) - Report As Spam