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Shin Nov 2020
I would very much prefer it
if
the color of your eyes were
not
etched so vividly into
mine.
Shin Nov 2020
The moon speaks cautiously through my window.
Whispered promises caress my blind eyes.
I wish I could hold the silk-spun hand.
I wish I was still afraid to die.
Farewell, I'll see you on the other side.
Shin Nov 2020
A phantom edges to the precipice.
Every forgotten word upon his lips.
A singular scar graces his spirit.
A shade of grey painted across his brow.
The winter wind chills to his bitter bones.
The fog descends upon his stubbled chin.
He takes a breath, and a solemn swan-dive,
until he greets his dearest friend, the ground.
Softly tasting the view from halfway down.
7 cycles of the moon remain.
Shin Nov 2020
Poor little pilgrim with your dough-like arms.
May your fetid brain rot within your terms.
I beg of you to find your young solace.
Or kiss the cheek of a God in the streets.
Pledge around this world, around this domain.
March to your merry, melancholy beat.
Oh how I love you, my boy can't you see?
Across all plains we go, just you and me.
Shin Nov 2020
Somewhere in a soft suburban pocket
there lives a pair of sweet, sinless, sisters.
Sheltered from the battered world's whirlwind.
Tucked warmly within their Garden of Eve.
Oh, what a shame. The madman knocks at their door.
Oh, what a shame. The shadows stain their floor.
Burdened by a butchered artist's remains,
He offers a gun and a grin.
He steps across their stoop, invading from within.

They never stood a chance.
They're never gonna last.

Nobody escapes his grease-laced grip.
Nobody suspects the sin of Shin.
Shin Oct 2020
What do you surmise I spy in your eyes?
An opal? A sapphire shattered sea?
Perhaps a dream, merely nothing at all.
I do not know, I cannot say but still,
I love you at the end of the day.
Shin Oct 2020
I am the culmination of your sin.
The ***** wearing your past's blood-stained furs.
Through greed, gluttony, lust,
I am what remains.
Pride, wrath, envy, sloth
all soak my skin within their reign.

I am the shadows of your teenaged rebellion.
I am the first and final bricks within the wall.
I am the ash burnt, rotting your lungs.
I am the unfired gun left rusted at your feet.
I am the final words uttered through your lips.
I am the silhouette etched in your sheets.
I am God of all that I am.
I am nothing.
I am everything.
So, please take my hand.
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