Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

I'd like to think, but that always got me in trouble.

Slave walk,
Shackles and
Chains jingle
Jangle a
Sinful relief.
To belong.
Abandoned eyes,
Nutritious lips
Kissed raw
With command.
Transfixed with
A spell;
To obey.
Scrape away
Skin to
Find the
Cliche underneath.
Glances unconventional,
A desperate
Slut sucking
Sores from
An eminent
Druglike worship.
Betrayed by
Inconsistency, the
Reaper plows
Her fallow
Land, to
Be done.
And to be done.

2-25-10
 


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I`d like to think, but that always got me in trouble.

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