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Britney Lyn Jan 2017
Roses of pure enchantment rest in the hands of the bride.
The red of the petals matching the crimson lips,
where tongues and lies collide.
Where there is an eclipse of hearts and darkness has fallen,
each thorn will pierce true.
Hands so pale, hair so black;
a sickening beauty she tries to prove.
The trees surround her mystic display,
the air choking like a noose.
When the sunlight returns the shadows will creep,
my beauty there shall be no truce.
Her eyes the color of jade,
such as a black cat on Halloween.
The soul that lay behind them,
so lovely yet tainted, unclean.
Her body that of an hourglass,
but what happens when time runs out?
Each grain of sand, each faded memory;
will fall to the bottom no doubt.
Yet here you stand just inches away,
from the women that will cause your death.
No matter the place, when the bond is sealed,
my friend you’ll have nothing left.
Say your vows and exchange the kiss,
barely able to breathe.
She slips the poison into your glass,
you still think it’s meant to be.

— The End —