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I am Temperance. I am Love.
I am the big, black, stomping boot
that crushes your glass heart
into one hundred thousand tiny broken pieces
beneath its sole.
This is me.
Your silver-winged Dovelet,
Your battle-wearied cooking pans,
Your thousand blood-kissed roses,
and diamonds cutting up your hand.
A butterfly flick-
of lashes on your cheek.
that is death.
That we may know despair.
That we may know anger.
Fearing our lusting, yet lusting still for fear.
The Puritanical Fury of being Unrequited--
Turned away. Told to accept our falls with grace and dignity.
I say **** it!
I say stand!
Raise your bolts of white-lightning fury and
Do a little heart stomping of your own!
Crush as you are crushed.
Devour those who would devour you!
We are one. Ill-matched, lace-broken, burned-fingers pair.
Upon each other we wreak and reap--
Only natural weapons allowed: Misery, Condescension, and
No K-Bars, surgical tubing, duck-tape or ****-******* false ***** available.
Do me right.
***** me right.
**** me over with that one hated word.
I have no temperance.
I will love.
Adult Angsty Poetry. Beware your eyes..
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