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I am but borrowed passions,
Everything a gesture
To impress unrequited lovers,
My lips touched by corpses;
Caressed by the dead
As an object of ***.

Each kiss poisons--
Hollows this person,
Until she is naught but body--
Skin, *******, and withered bones--
Lying in a coffin, legs exposed;  
She'd call it necrophilia
But life had left, long, long ago.
Cobbling the letters like nails into shoes we could use,
we hobble confused
hammered
abused by the thought
caught in the flow and words as we know
are cruel and kind, like
silk lined sows ears sobbing like tears in the dust but we must
continue to hammer away
cutting into each day as we cut into our heart to impart what we think and the ink turns to blood
because we knew that it would.
It is our life.
Bliss,fleeting
and frail like a twitch
of the eyelids.
I have beautiful nightmares still to this day of our times together.
I see her face, of which I do not like to recall but nevertheless, blindingly unforgettable.
Just the burning ashes and shadowy silhouettes that dance in the corridors of my mind between darkened doorways and buzzing lights.
No wind, growing still air and a stench of old sketch books and burning lighters.

Some things you wish you could forget, while others, you wish you could remember.
A little taste of honey
A bit of a tangled frenzy
and the rest was history repeated

(C) Tiffanie Noel Doro
You'll use the excuse
That tastes like apple
And burns like poison
To justify your lust
And your desire to hurt
But drunk actions
Are honest thoughts
And you have never been more
Truthful
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