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tas2707
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younger
Even though their all stunners they wish that they were younger screaming unknown from their eyes seeking tomorrow for late lies their sipping fresh from reality lips slipping sweet normality chained to the mirror of yesterday they sing for the sweetness of morality back to untainted pipe dreams back to their souls of fresh seams if their pipe was for dreams, now its filled with the devils green
grove
tainted by crimson; it is here we will wait among the grove of serpentine hate for our lovely bones will soon dissipate & reveal our tattered souls too late. so we wander astray in our earthbound state but were drowning in crimson; it is here we will wait.
steadfast
she's like a tear on a page, rigid beneath a microscope beaded through single-minded chaos; trapped on a thread this unbending composition becomes morbid preoccupation contradicting the simplicity of what she should be; beautifully sewn through the steadfast canvas rendering to faded satisfaction..
brushed
when the recurring whisper is so hell bent on destruction and the time to persevere becomes a strand of twisted woe her composition entangles love and lustful action her soul is encased in a coffin of velvet snow the light brushes mournfully to absorb the crowning reaction truths river so wistfully dances to her melting song when the recurring whisper becomes a scream of bruised infraction from dust stems iniquity where tranquility should belong; her heart has gone adrift within the souls of right and wrong.
strive
what will become of their souls striving for the daylight lust becomes the sun, seeking to ignite blinded by the chance to change left to right this is now their souls clinging to the daylight.
orders
taking orders from lifes sinister retractions shes misplaced the fundamentals of spontaneous reactions she fails to see through the cruelness of satisfactions and screams for a hollow place between walls of rash distractions. shes trapped in what people find a conquering abstraction.
pupil
seeking to hear with her eyes shes sustaining the quietness of lies would have been saved could have been saved should have been saved though there's walls, pieced together by frail intent her pupils trail the bricks, going on to misrepresent a fraction of faded light is all she can hear a visual melody her eyes strive to endear.
narrative
I am standing from the branches of this narrative memory to the lost simple mindedness of your essence that feeling, numbness they call it, brushes its watery vines against the skin of my heart. I am standing not far from the edge but close enough to comprehend close enough to feel the chill breeze dragging its remorse i am lost somewhere now, in the ocean of your mind tossed into the core of this memory, crooked and torn; upside down and backwards. i am drowning.
vines
the rain crawls down the skin of her face like vines taught to grow in reverse as if these drops were a bittersweet curse and travel to find the earths faint inverse.
blasted
like a landmine their reaches to reality were blasted away by the condescending lines to forever and above; what should have been wasn't and what was shouldn't have been. clambering to the top of discernment, she leaped for a thread of intrinsic perception through the undeniable declination of pure train of thought. the synopsis of life expected was obliterated within the spoken word of these inebriated concepts. welcome to the land mine.
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