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willow sophie Aug 2019
Prickling thorns on a white rose;
it has been stained by Adonis' blood-
care for nectar, Highness?
I offer you my condolences and my adoration,
wouldn't you accompany me?
willow sophie Aug 2019
I practice magick, not theology, my apologies-
but I can assure that this cherub becomes a daemon at the pearly gates! Bring your silver spear, I am adorned with bronze!
I needn't worry, no deity awaits my presence, only Death; let us be reunited at last!
willow sophie Aug 2019
'Swine, O swine!' you cry, but why?

Our doom is inevitable, let us repent?

No, we are late, onwards!
willow sophie Aug 2019
A fire set amid the willows; O, they burn!
Father Sky, he cries;
Rain cannot put out the flames!
Can you fathom the forest in flames? Nor can I!
But still I cry, He still cries.
willow sophie Aug 2019
A composition that turns to ash in the crackling hearth; but now the crow cackles, how could you?
willow sophie Aug 2019
O, how cynical- trust is not an admirable virtue, not to you; trust is found on the opposing side, that of the adversary- the lascivious mind of humanity, what morals are held?

I ask too many questions, but answers, none to spare! I am left bereft, wondering! But I remain alone, cloaked- I cannot be hurt!

But of course, I needn't be invincible- I need only a watch; the abstraction of time cannot be comprehended, the rippling incoherent- where shall I go now?
willow sophie Aug 2019
Evoke the reflection, see only candor, you seldom cry- have you no shame?
I cannot console you as you engage in this feud- the mirth of your eyes clouded with smoke, can you see? But of course not!
You move, languid, with the wine in your skull- where is your chariot, maiden? Where is your shame?
Have you none? But of course not!
You shan't walk free, for you have succumbed so easily- and with what risk? Was it worth it? But of course not!
Gold embroidered in the finest silk caresses your *****, a veil hides your tears- but alas, your soul is raw and ragged- why has thee left it loft in the sea?
The vernal land smells of petrichor- the stream runs eager! Where have you gone, what have you done? Have you run, one of seven brides to be wed? Have you no shame? But of course not!
Shall we await your return? But of course not!
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