Monday, 18 November 2013

Soon come, first draft. Late night ramblings.

Brows crease bones break blood flows; effervescent
thoughts tangle. A black widow spinning them beyond your control.
She poises herself within the cracks of ones self, interlacing her geometric silk beyond the ambuscades hidden deep within.
A nihilist she seeks destruction, now, anger prevails more prominently than before.
Avarice yearns entirely; becoming her.
Transmundane she awaits her martyr.
"soon come my darling."

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