Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Anamnesis

Quaint is his heart.
So bitter,
A beat is not found.

His emerald ways
Suck the breath
From the kiss of esteem.

I think of torn lips
And how love is
A stolen trait.

Forever far away, not
A soul to grasp onto.
My hands go numb.

When the heart stops,
So will I.
My scent lingering on anamnesis.

Pluck the eyes
From the skull and infatuate
Mine own dreams into death.

1-12-11


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Anamnesis

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