M/phoenix My Love is fire
I Fight like water
My body the dirt of ancient graves.
And my soul,
the very wind itself.
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Burn this fabric the weave of the grandest way we wrap our secret selves in and write little patterns that somehow pushes apart from the comfort of speech to break the truth into lie-able bits that everyone can approve of because they are pretty then you will be hollow with the desire to tug on the dangling strings that always itch the nose of conscience to be rid of the ****** the mold you have been force in and you will unravel when it hurts and you will unravel when it is quiet you will become bare just shape just like everything else and when you find peace in your own decimation a single flower will grow behind your lifes eye a memory of when you took root in the self a lense to see your life as you mean to live it
the question clung to the temples of the newly born revenant who still played in concert with her heart though the music that they made there had gone quieter over the years. and just now In her fleeting embrace he saw in her eyes not the past but the future like stepping out into the winter after an evening by an oakwood fire and his fear drank his blood for he had already carved her name into the stones of time that line the path of his life and when it was finally time to sit down he didn't want to take off his shoes alone.
The flames of failing stars Strike not an inch Across my heart For I have lost my sense of pain In sunflower smiles All that is Swirls in intricate dance As I fall through the laughter Of what must be a billion Golden days, But no Just this single moment
So come find me She said With a grin Of delicate desires And I closed my eyes And touched to my lips The complexity of shadow That when Cast through my lashes Lends life to the little lies I tend to tell myself When I think of why Life left you In the dreams of me And it keeps me waking In the destitude of early hours Pondering what poison I took to make me forget The endless wonder That poured from The deepest depths Of creation Stirring in the summer Of you
The sparks in the iron sky cannot hope to twinkle like the embers in her eyes the rain has no veil for her radiance it pierces the swirling skys in me the walls bare no meaning now in this heart of mine and I've unhung the paintings here my wounds close in the wake of her every motion and I am free
All that there was crumbles Synthetically In the magic of of her autumn smile
Autumn is the whisper in the air that harkons the mistress winter, and she is beautiful and vain.