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Annie Feb 1
My mind got wrapped into a spell
Entwisted by two hands
And slowly, my resistance fell
Into a man’s presence

My toughts began to twist and spin
Into thin fingers touch
And faster, I’m entangling
Into a frantic clutch

Out of two dark, abyssal eyne
I drew new force and energy
And realised I can’t decline
A kind of curiousity

And fled myself into a vibe
Both flustering and soothing
Until I found myself beside
A control I confide
Instincts shrink
when love is on the table
for instincts are for survival
And love is for a dying
in the grandest ritual possible
And although as my gut tells me
Warns me to be on my guard
Cautioning, my brain is mush
And so is my own heart -
Dampen my instincts then,
Love, have me be ******,
Take all of my very existence,
Sacrificing survival on insistence.
Kayla Gallant Dec 2018
We know this isn't good for us
This rinse and repeat
Rut **** of a life
Yet here we are
Marching
In this clone army
Brains exposed
Bathing in acid
Killing ourselves
Slowly
Not too fast
Hate to cut this misery short
God forbid we follow the exit signs
Carved into our souls
Don't die a copy ❤
Simone Zona Nov 2018
i come to you half mad with desire
my *** turned to sacrifice;
starved, like an Unwatered flower,
A wretched *****,
A sacred *******,
A temple of worship,

Do you remember How you created me?
In A sort of Rebirth, out of the carcass I once was
Aching to be consumed
All my flesh and bones and sinews,
Stripped away.
Now, just the soft dew of our skin,
The clear thickened air dressed in fire
Smoked by the scents of sage and salt
evoking numberless poems

For me to swim through your body
back and forth in a sacred liturgy
Bloodied and purified I am Laid bare before you now
amidst The white sheets of  the alter
A purity of sin almost worthy of  worship,
almost crying out the holiness of **** before the gods.
And Our velvet kiss turning to a midnight confession
all of our vices and virtues
Are as blood and as sky.
Based off the concept of physical love and religious love as being two manifestations of the same impulse.
Nosipho Khanyile Nov 2018
a break in routine is necessary
when momentary sadness
becomes ritualistic pain
Izzy Aghahowa Nov 2018
i felt like a lone flower
that lived
once upon a time
in a distant season

a spring flower
stuck in wintertime

withered
in solitude
captivated by my own ritualistic isolation
and misery
King Oct 2018
Finger tips, so freshly pricked
The blood, drips so sweet
Dark red, falls and stained
The socks, covering my feet

Finger tips, covered in red
The blood, flows so fast
Dark red, stains the dead
My shirt, torn across my chest

The night has only begun
As the moonlight showers
So does my everlasting fun

Chaotic energy
Demonic Clergy
Sweet sun falls
While spirits rise

Dancing, prancing, gallivanting
Underneath the sweetness of a dark moon
Such a delectable array of freedom, yet it ends so soon

Sun rise, ruins our freedom
Tomorrows day, drags us back
A year, we wait bleeding
My chest, still dripping red

Sun rise, the end of holiday
Tomorrows day, I lay lifeless
A year, we repeat the ritual
My chest, healed by my king
Lady Ravenhill Oct 2018
As ink flows onto pap'r
From mine own lips to thy ears
I love yous art all thee shall hear
At which hour the moon is full
And thee can meeteth me h're
Und'r the hawth'rn moon
©LadyRavenhill 2018
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