These are the days
that the fade craves
spinning graves
from spent exhales
as we re-inhale
all the pith we gave
to a false phase
a compost composite
of loves catatonic charade.
Catch me babe
in your rising
dismantled sigh
still you\'ll rewind
the wind of my cry,
all the glazed infernos
blaze like a line
spent from lies
ride my grimey crime
as I chew your soul
through my eyes.
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WhisperingQuill.All Rights Reserved.
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