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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. A kiss-         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-- Unnoticed-- Unloved. 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                                                                         Ass-Holery. No K-Bars, surgical tubing, duck-tape or butt-fucking false ***** available. Do me right. ***** me right. **** me over with that one hated word. I have no temperance. I will love.
0
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 3:22 PM UTC
Broken Laces
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. A kiss-         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-- Unnoticed-- Unloved. 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                                                                         Ass-Holery. No K-Bars, surgical tubing, duck-tape or butt-fucking 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..
hb
Written by
hb
American
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 3:22 PM UTC
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