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It’s a strange muse, this murderous blue.
So many drawn to her splendor
So many drawn to their death
I ran out of words to describe her beauty. But needed to remember how dangerous beauty can be
son of man
glimmer of hope
in Plato's cave
or my throat
mend metal
tear apart homes
the unexpected visitor of Rome
you arrive when summoned
but often overstay
some might say
you are superior to clay

Genre: Micro Verse || 8 Words Poetry
Theme: Twin Flame
Death waits.
But, first develops
a rapport
with you.
letting you
believe in
immortal fancies.
entertaining the idea of
living again. in the flesh.
Death can stand no more
of your duplicity. of
your undying hypocrisy.
Then, lights out.
No life, for you.
It's a wettish day
The flowers are dashed to pieces
A cold wind also
The sky is very dark
It's going to rain today
Blustery sharp wind
your mouth tastes like all the sweet words
you did not mean
rotting between your teeth
gin on your breath
i take a shot
every stroke of you inside of me
is proof
i love the pain
Parallel times do not meet.
Well, maybe only sometimes.
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