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Ander Nov 2014
Tingling alarm,
burning eyes,
sassy is out,
in my mind.

**** long hair,
short skirt,
dark music,
pale skin.

Salty humor,
seriously sweet,
sparkling aura,
on high-heels.

Knocking on hearts,
Opening doors,
Shivering crowds,
Dancing all floors.

Sight sets on me,
Fountains of youth,
Brilliance in her steps,
Each marked with truth.

Tied by her beauty,
My soul's reeling in,
Tossing and turning,
The lure, deady sin.
Collab with Dajena
mk Feb 2016
i look at her and i see innocence. a corrupt innocence. she is torn in subtle ways, unnoticeable unless they are unfamiliar. her scars are hidden behind a wall of silence. she has a quiet rage; she is the fearful, she is the feared. her touch is not gentle: it is fierce. it is unforgettable. she will burn through your skin. she will burn through your mind. she will consume you; she has been hungry for oh so long. her tears are hot, they stem from the fire in her heart which burns even brighter when she is in chaotic comfort. she tries to hide that seed of darkness but it just seems to grow. she tries to hide the blood on her hands but you can't wash away your mistakes.
many see her as arrogant, certain, magnificent: absolutely terrifying. only she knows what the scene looks like once the curtains close.
regret and misery.
mistakes. so many mistakes. she tries to fade into the background: a silent stain on the wallpaper. but her shocking eyes ignite the paper and set fire to everything she sees. she is indestructible- she is destruction. a simple flick of her auburn hair will make you fall to her feet. and she knows that. she knows it all too well. she knows the power she has over the hearts and minds of others. to them, she is a mystery. but she knows that she hurts everything she touches. the gloves won't keep away the knives that protrude from her fingernails. the bounds won't constrain her. she can't be tamed. she needs to ****. she needs to feed: slowly draining you of all you've ever loved. she's numb. she's waiting. she's lurking in the shadows: praying no one will stumble upon her personal hell (heaven?) but intrinsically  hoping some innocent will come her way and give into her sweetest desires.
i look at her pale skin and bleeding lips. i look at her eyes with galaxies, constellations, the zodiac and beyond. i look at the gentle sway of her hips. i look at the way her tongue licks the corner of her mouth. i look at the way her fingers curl in a deady excitement. i look at the way she speaks words of wonder; the final words they will ever hear.
i look at her: *and i see myself.
be careful, love, you're treading thin ice.
Jonny Angel Sep 2014
Robert's mark
left an indelible impression,
etch on my tortured mind.
His scorpion-tat crawled
up his right calf
in shades of deady crimson.
During PT, it instilled
a certain amount of fear
on those who gazed upon it.
But lying in the desert sun,
without the rest of his body,
it was not nearly as terrifying.
I'll never forget the crying
of those surrounding his leg
& boot,
still attached.

— The End —