Blanch desolate face rotting from reality,
pessimistic eyes,
hinder the disguise.
The vacant mind.
Transgress demise.
Despondent affection,
stripped-less anima,
vehemently demoralized.
The misery,
a parable affection.

Blanch desolate face rotting from reality, pessimistic eyes, hinder the disguise. The vacant mind. Transgress demise. Despondent affection, stripped-less anima, vehemently demoralized. The misery, a parable affection. |
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October 30, 2003
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nice job...
--
member of-
:iconlivingpoetsociety: :icondark-writing:
:iconfall-children: :iconbloodrosesociety:
:icontheskulls: :iconCradleOfFilth:
my other identity:
:iconsacredinsanity:
AND YEAH I MEAN THAT IN EVERY SENSE OF THE SIXTH.
YEAH.
--
-i: a.i,=n_
--
_
--
-i: a.i,=n_
i dunno, nor do i really care, its a good poem anyway
first and last bits are the best i think
--
i dont want to bleed anymore...
Great job!..........
--
mari
A man's home is his castle.....let him clean it........anon
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