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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Gothic >> ID #1701782 |
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Your awkward mist lingers on
Centuries after you’ve gone Every time I think of your death It tears me to shreds And a deathly, glowing vision of myself With no face Is violently born in the mirror The way you traveled back in time The way the project went awry When the cicadas just ate you alive Buzzing a tortured, satanic rhyme Screaming a final, electric goodbye I sat alone to watch you die For doing naught, I apologize But a festered prophet handed me knives And whispered to gouge your gothic eyes To bury your carcass in alien shrines With undead fingers But a pious mind Sweet nightmares, little one
© Copyright 2010 Saichairí Mac Dáibhídh (UN: ballofbase at Writing.Com).
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