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true to the soul of your years rough fabric hewn from a life filled with bitter days and desperately lonely nights her worn eyes look thru me as the candle flickers with nightbrezze dances light shadows across walls and amplifies the emptiness and the window to the world outside reveals little but the skies wheeling silently overhead and a trail out of the wilderness away from her glass cage hollow hearted she is bent over the page beads of sweat pepper her brow her lips flicker with silent phrases as she labors thru each crafted word weaving her barefooted form out of the crisp white page showing her carefully posing her hands in the gestures of birds in flight while her words are in broken french her soul is fluent with all the seasons that one finds on the harsh streets and in the hallways of institutions for bent thinkers as darkness breaks the soiled sunlight and the shards sharp and swift it sheds all premise of innocence the light is unclean it breeds children of shadow in the mind that run laughing thru the memory's tearing at the fabric of her image scrawling obscene words on the walls of sanity and breaking the dusty windows along the road between your today and all your yesterdays the essence of its cage bound in place by shadow know its child of misgivings see its motherless harlot of fears and sour the milk of reason with its poison eye leaving me hungry of the thirsty floor leaving me angry on the grieving hardtack like so many who hide themselves away from harm she became trapped in her illusions and now spends her days trying in thought alone to break free i pity her as much as i fear a monster like her your ****** moments fade your smile from my mind
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Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC
institutions for bent thinkers
true to the soul of your years rough fabric hewn from a life filled with bitter days and desperately lonely nights her worn eyes look thru me as the candle flickers with nightbrezze dances light shadows across walls and amplifies the emptiness and the window to the world outside reveals little but the skies wheeling silently overhead and a trail out of the wilderness away from her glass cage hollow hearted she is bent over the page beads of sweat pepper her brow her lips flicker with silent phrases as she labors thru each crafted word weaving her barefooted form out of the crisp white page showing her carefully posing her hands in the gestures of birds in flight while her words are in broken french her soul is fluent with all the seasons that one finds on the harsh streets and in the hallways of institutions for bent thinkers as darkness breaks the soiled sunlight and the shards sharp and swift it sheds all premise of innocence the light is unclean it breeds children of shadow in the mind that run laughing thru the memory's tearing at the fabric of her image scrawling obscene words on the walls of sanity and breaking the dusty windows along the road between your today and all your yesterdays the essence of its cage bound in place by shadow know its child of misgivings see its motherless harlot of fears and sour the milk of reason with its poison eye leaving me hungry of the thirsty floor leaving me angry on the grieving hardtack like so many who hide themselves away from harm she became trapped in her illusions and now spends her days trying in thought alone to break free i pity her as much as i fear a monster like her your ****** moments fade your smile from my mind
mark-john-junor-1
Written by
59/M/American
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC
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