Caressing the abandonment with scarred hands,
She waits for the touch of compassion
Once, those hands could speak clearly
Blinded; they wander fields of skin
Patiently waiting for the pulse to ensue
Death sliding out of the tips,
They grew
Death pouring out of her skull,
It grew
Grew to Passion's favorite sanctuary
To conceal abandonment's face
Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 11:00 AM UTC
Caressing the abandonment with scarred hands,
She waits for the touch of compassion
Once, those hands could speak clearly
Blinded; they wander fields of skin
Patiently waiting for the pulse to ensue
Death sliding out of the tips,
They grew
Death pouring out of her skull,
It grew
Grew to Passion's favorite sanctuary
To conceal abandonment's face