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"slithered" poems
"Get in the bag" he said, a his main chick turned. So I did "Hey bae" said the white chick holding her Starbucks "Quit talking and **** my dick" said Daquan, as if I weren't even there. I peeked out of the bag to see what my ***** was doing, and that **** boy was hittin it from the back. I slowly slithered out of the bag and into her ****** and bit off Daquan's **** #anigganeverlearns
0
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 8:39 AM UTC
**** ******
I watched the fox, rat held firmly in its jaw, Trot across the street, lithely avoiding the cars, Ears pricked up. It slithered under a fence and weaved through the undergrowth, Not once acknowledging my presence. Disappearing in the night, it yelped out its echoes in the wood Licking out worms. The shadowed moon slung down its light Like weak silver bristles from the back of a carved out hedgehog Covered with newly deposited fox saliva. It had screamed as it was consumed-unable to die! The crow stabbed at a newly dead rock pigeon As the stalking cat pounced...... Death mingled! Joe, who lived near me, waved: I waved back, wondering why he saw nothing.
0
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 7:32 PM UTC
RAT CAUGHT BY FOX
I let go too soon, of these three fingers pinning a white dress to my knees, such a strut they possess, and psychic for the waggle I do on my tulip-days: mama said that the lace came from an elves’ head, I could not wear it. I put it in a dresser drawer, as I lost my appetite for marriage and friends. She said that father wanted to see it, I should parade my red, pulsing veins. A torpedo, it became, cowering until liftoff  and glory hallelujah first kisses. Was it not funny when I, poor chap, kept garbage in my teeth and laughed when you slithered your tongue inside, like Friday penetrating the weekend? You are a Leo; I am far from such, but I understand why you may be insulted, as mama garbs turquoise as the sky and all our daffodils burn like rubber. Each says it is because they love me, railing cat-scratches with a stitch – but I do not want that, see earthquakes that hammer on  our tulip-days, dear.
0
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 5:22 PM UTC
tulip-days
Chasing seagulls shadows As the breeze slithered through my hair It was love at first sight Sunsets tracing rainbows on the murky waters The sea truly is a mystery But the love I feel is even more of a mystery I can still hear the roaring of the surf Tides coming in slowly Full moon tonight Softer breeze and a lot less noise No children laugh Parents yelling to stay away from the jellyfish Just silence The perfect love affair It was love at first sight When the sea breeze kissed me The salty water wrapped its arms around me The sun setting fire to Pacific blue water Moonlight chasing dolphins as they fly through the air Stars reflecting off the rippling water It was truly a love affair set in motion at first sight Now I dare you to fall in love
0
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
It Was Love At First Sight
- *Lead dripping from empty sockets, a clock hissed in serpent hours, it's venom oozing from the crystal walls* it's 4 a.m. you insomnia lunatic. *I'm too busy admiring, how the man in the moon slithered through these blinds on my soul-swept window. That night I was a canvas, as the moonlight stripped my arm raw of shale, and tinted my skin with* silvertongue. ***And when he was finished, tiger stripes tattooed my thinning vessel.*** -
0
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 7:00 PM UTC
Insomnia
Your hand brushed against mine, heat slithered up my thigh, A python of mystery and allure, temptations offering more. I tried to avoid your eyes, to avoid facing all those lies, But I wanted us to burn, deep into the sheets, igniting skin, Skin on fire, liar liar, pants on fire. I wanted nothing more, than to send you up in flames Smoke dancing around your lungs, tightening your chest The way I couldn't breathe, when you played such cruel games. I longed for your eyes to sting, in a way you couldn't rest Eyes on fire, liar liar, pants on fire. And when we come up for air, with sweat upon our brows, But not enough to put these flames out, I hope you inhale the way you made me feel And I'll watch it lick you, the way I didn't any more, Into the sorriest ashes, smouldering on the floor, Skin on fire, liar liar, pants on fire.
0
Sep 1, 2012
Sep 1, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙ Going to the mountaintop nothing to keep to see, an explicit wonders a blissful dream only, holding in my hands a flute withstand when I reach at top of peek I inhaled a scent that nobody ever breathed with full air I blew forces of nature awakening *A Galway style comes out music bars slithered   all across coming down my feet guiding notes far & near peace touched to the rivers warring solitude filled the valleys fairies and goblins in delitescent filled with great joy, the mountains were vivified* At the end of my song I blew a soaring note above and caves opened some going here and there hopping, waving trees bowed with splendor And all I saw comes frolicly sigh of full relief my phantasms has finished on my way home leaving my flute up a stone hoping someday, someone, would be willing -enough to play to hear my song over again
0
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 9:32 AM UTC
My Irish Flute on Mountaintop
In Đà Nẵng my friends cradled me like a child. We screamed Taylor bridges, tequila-toasted in bars until the lights blurred. A single candle in the bathroom danced warm sighs through open windows, and all felt calm. I grew new muscles balancing on a motorcycle, sometimes gripping Harry’s jacket, sometimes throwing my weight into the wind. The city flared neon and gasoline in stuttered traffic, but along the coast he drove so fast the vibrations in my chest harmonized. I pictured my bones becoming butterflies if I let go. I had entered the Year of the Dragon on a futon, swayed to half-sleep by a hundred chanting voices from the temple next door. I did not dream of dragons. I only learned to breathe fire. At midnight Bailey stood at an ancestral altar, kumquat branches, apricot blossoms, red envelopes, wine, burning full sticks of incense, and smoking half a pack of Esse Lights. This is how the year turns over safely. Tết is not about faith; it’s about continuity. The Year of the Snake slid in with new bones and old habits. It hissed that suffering could be scripture until letters slithered free from the page and coiled like cold jewelry around my wrist. I didn’t make it for Tết that year no silk áo dài, blood orange, too big for a body that learned shrinking before it learned staying. That was the shedding. Salt water peeling old skin away, songs shouted so loud they drowned the ache, poems that did not start tragic, nights when my body finally kept time with the moon. At home the water did not move. At home the dog’s teeth found my hope. A terrified mouth rerouted rivers through my soft parts. A jewel carved from my nose. Six punctures blooming across my arms like altars. In Vietnamese stories the snake waits beneath the water to claim whoever dares the bank. I wonder if I was chosen the moment I opened my mouth in those bars, when I leaned into the bike’s curve as if danger could be a swan song. Now I lie awake at hours unnamed, tracing scars that hiss answers back. Something from Vietnam keeps breathing through me, the candle’s heat, the coast’s long nerve, voices braided into salt and night, and I cannot tell if they are echoes or fangs testing the dark. They say snakes shed to grow, but no one warns you how thin the new skin feels, how everything burns against it, how you mistake survival for prophecy. I touch the scar and wonder if I am still that girl clinging to the bike, or if the snake has already swallowed me, patient, sleepless, feeding on my own venom.
0
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 1:24 PM UTC
The Year of the Snake
In Đà Nẵng my friends cradled me like a child. We screamed Taylor bridges, tequila-toasted in bars until the lights blurred. A single candle in the bathroom danced warm sighs through open windows, and all felt calm. I grew new muscles balancing on a motorcycle, sometimes gripping Harry’s jacket, sometimes throwing my weight into the wind. The city flared neon and gasoline in stuttered traffic, but along the coast he drove so fast the vibrations in my chest harmonized. I pictured my bones becoming butterflies if I let go. I had entered the Year of the Dragon on a futon, swayed to half-sleep by a hundred chanting voices from the temple next door. I did not dream of dragons. I only learned to breathe fire. At midnight Bailey stood at an ancestral altar, kumquat branches, apricot blossoms, red envelopes, wine, burning full sticks of incense, and smoking half a pack of Esse Lights. This is how the year turns over safely. Tết is not about faith; it’s about continuity. The Year of the Snake slid in with new bones and old habits. It hissed that suffering could be scripture until letters slithered free from the page and coiled like cold jewelry around my wrist. I didn’t make it for Tết that year no silk áo dài, blood orange, too big for a body that learned shrinking before it learned staying. That was the shedding. Salt water peeling old skin away, songs shouted so loud they drowned the ache, poems that did not start tragic, nights when my body finally kept time with the moon. At home the water did not move. At home the dog’s teeth found my hope. A terrified mouth rerouted rivers through my soft parts. A jewel carved from my nose. Six punctures blooming across my arms like altars. In Vietnamese stories the snake waits beneath the water to claim whoever dares the bank. I wonder if I was chosen the moment I opened my mouth in those bars, when I leaned into the bike’s curve as if danger could be a swan song. Now I lie awake at hours unnamed, tracing scars that hiss answers back. Something from Vietnam keeps breathing through me, the candle’s heat, the coast’s long nerve, voices braided into salt and night, and I cannot tell if they are echoes or fangs testing the dark. They say snakes shed to grow, but no one warns you how thin the new skin feels, how everything burns against it, how you mistake survival for prophecy. I touch the scar and wonder if I am still that girl clinging to the bike, or if the snake has already swallowed me, patient, sleepless, feeding on my own venom.
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65
I was molded by his own hand sculpted to perfection and eager to please who else other than my husband for without Adam, there is no Eve at least, that was before he slithered into our perfect life pounding our perfect garden into the ground with his slick feet conniving and a brute, he convinced me to take a bite and share my fruit with man for what is mine is his my knowledge is his I am his together we ate snacking and licking our fingers with glee wiping the secretions of the fruit of mankind against the tree we tore it from until our Paradise's pastures declined the wildflowers overtrodded with weeds the singing waterfall vanished only to be replaced by an evil, magmatic spout and our tree, our once bountiful, glorious, fruitful tree decayed from the inside out Adam's burning glare rotted my fruit and my seeds until they and I dropped to the burning embers on the ground like nicks off of a pebble that was thrown too hard or like hairs from the back of a matted mother cat that has spent far too many heatless winters hunting for a different life, for any life with no more than a curse from Him, I became the failed experiment of humanity tossed into God's own graveyard left to rot with my stolen seed
0
Apr 29, 2022
Apr 29, 2022 at 1:16 PM UTC
god's junkyard
We had not spoke or wrote for many long days turning to even longer weeks which grew into the longest months until I could no longer weep and again I found peace in my once restless sleep. But you came a calling and a texting me just when my hands finally started feeling clean spinning them words like "I miss you" "I just wanted to see" wicked turn a phrases pierce ears like crooked hooks they could turn a man's thoughts like the pages of an ancient book. Your fingers gliding gently over now so hazy memories we meet again amidst a fog but your eyes, your eyes they do not remember me they see a man foul in form ugly, twisted flesh, weak and pathetic ripping his own heart from his chest This is not me you see (no not at all) but a protrusion of your own ill-regard you slithered on your belly like a serpent begging to be tread upon so I moved like certain kinds of dances around tribal fires determined not to slip but inevitably I did how dare you hiss "Liar" at me. I'm just a man working on being a better one I don't expect you to understand cause I never said I could fly so why the **** did you think I was superman.
0
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
I Am Not Superman
Sighting the preening peacock Slithered into the bush Wily snake
0
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 9:10 PM UTC
Be wise as serpents...
If you had been a musician, it would be impossible for me to tear my heart away from yours However you still managed to play my heart strings, You innocent fingers unintentionally plucking, prodding, pulling my heart in so that it could never be separated again They say that heartbreak is when a part of your heart is broken, however I think that when people are in love, the heart melds completely with that of the other person. I am him and he is me. When we lose them, our hearts are torn apart leaving them raw, gasping for the other half Pumping Pumping harder and faster Pumping Like my brain when I can't sleep pouring out the memories of you Pumping like a faucet running clear and pure then becoming ***** so no one will drink it's filthy waters Pumping Like the fiery engine on a train heaving burning embers, whistling, whisking it's passengers far away from home Pumping Like the thick blood throbbing through my thin veins, every time I think of those eyes Pumping Like the ghost of the beat in your chest next to my ear drums beating, beating as I fall asleep My blood is pumping out of my body with no second heart to hold it, my love pumping out of me, wasted and forgotten Pumping from an infinite pool of love for you that will continue rushing      If only, you would care to accept it     If only you could be mine and I could be yours and we would hold each other under the stars and see their lights in our eyes, the universe above, around, and in us, filling our entire beings     If only you would hold me. Your lips on mine my hands in your hair your hands on my waist forever entwining like two vines Growing The longer they grow, the more entangled they become, the harder it is to tell where one starts and one begins I have forgotten where I end and you begin. But you are gone, your vines have slithered through my soul, disappearing leaving empty tunnels creating crevices until one day it will finally collapse But for now, your invisible vines remain, and I convince myself I am whole
0
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 11:45 PM UTC
Invisible vines
If you had been a musician, it would be impossible for me to tear my heart away from yours However you still managed to play my heart strings, You innocent fingers unintentionally plucking, prodding, pulling my heart in so that it could never be separated again They say that heartbreak is when a part of your heart is broken, however I think that when people are in love, the heart melds completely with that of the other person. I am him and he is me. When we lose them, our hearts are torn apart leaving them raw, gasping for the other half Pumping Pumping harder and faster Pumping Like my brain when I can't sleep pouring out the memories of you Pumping like a faucet running clear and pure then becoming ***** so no one will drink it's filthy waters Pumping Like the fiery engine on a train heaving burning embers, whistling, whisking it's passengers far away from home Pumping Like the thick blood throbbing through my thin veins, every time I think of those eyes Pumping Like the ghost of the beat in your chest next to my ear drums beating, beating as I fall asleep My blood is pumping out of my body with no second heart to hold it, my love pumping out of me, wasted and forgotten Pumping from an infinite pool of love for you that will continue rushing      If only, you would care to accept it     If only you could be mine and I could be yours and we would hold each other under the stars and see their lights in our eyes, the universe above, around, and in us, filling our entire beings     If only you would hold me. Your lips on mine my hands in your hair your hands on my waist forever entwining like two vines Growing The longer they grow, the more entangled they become, the harder it is to tell where one starts and one begins I have forgotten where I end and you begin. But you are gone, your vines have slithered through my soul, disappearing leaving empty tunnels creating crevices until one day it will finally collapse But for now, your invisible vines remain, and I convince myself I am whole
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38
The ache, The zing through the pelvis Trapped in an evergreen Transcending into the pillow Light is Black Black is light The brain has slithered from the skull Out the ear, leaving a wet trail The bliss The suspended body transfixed on the ceiling Eyes small like buttholes Writhing in angst Rolling in filth Buzzing in a field The ********
0
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 7:25 AM UTC
Waffle Sheet
it has been years you didn't write nor call i slithered from church for reach out to you my savior, my redeemer like an evangelist im waiting for you to come in a beautiful dress and baptise me with your luscious kiss so that under my spell you can tell me im the chosen one i can tell you you are the one i've been waiting for
0
May 26, 2022
May 26, 2022 at 6:25 PM UTC
church bells
In my youth I was quick to anger and destroy anything, everything that stood before me. The sickness followed me. Convinced inside, slithered an evil and cynical mind. My twisted self was buried in the depths of me. Only to feel a lose, of what was my whole being. Years longing, craving the madness. Tossing and turning willing to give up all that I was or would be, to free this fiendish friend. No one wants to be good by nature. To say I'm human, then simultaneously I desire the other side of the light. One sided, we are not whole. It is our duty to consult both our angels, and demons.
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May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
Duality
As the sun rose The darkness slithered abroad Aspiration claims it’s lawful residence within, Jouissance comes out to entertain Snigger echoed in the sweet gust As the cyclone whispered You are free , free of burdens carried Far too long Free from sadness that startled your soul Grasp now the light I sent your way feel it from within shine bright like the stars from this day on
0
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 5:25 PM UTC
You’re A Star
This time, a single breath unbalances the silky parachutes and they float into the hedgerow. A watch reads seven, but it stood for the year that slithered through a broken sand timer.
0
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 6:23 PM UTC
Dandelion
Let’s get rid of it all. Starting with this mouth, lately it hasn’t said anything worth hearing, Like these lungs haven’t ****** in any air worth breathing Or these hands haven’t held anything worth keeping Like these ears haven’t heard anything worth believing Or this blood hasn’t found it’s way to heart worth beating And this skin hasn’t resembled anything worth seeing And this mind hasn't become anyone worth meeting And when all the worn out masks have slithered away and finally left me beautifully naked and infinitely clean. Maybe then my soul can find someone worth being.
0
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
Naked.
I had a boss When I worked, A black-hearted sycophant We'll call Bert. There was no escaping From this **** Unless Daddy'd sheathed Before his squirt. He was the smiling villain, With a glad-handshake, And a slap on the back: One never knew of his scurrilous attacks On reputation, On self-esteem, This viper slithered In my Garden of Eden.
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Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 5:00 PM UTC
My Garden of Eden
He was calm, cool and relaxed In his Papa's old forbidden barn His eyes hid a lonely happiness It was a quiet summer afternoon At first he thought it was a man But in the heat, he couldn't decide And his young heart felt haunted So from a distance he watched Then, the clouds gathered And a mighty storm brewed Darkness slithered into the barn Rife with the venom of uncertainty And like the darkness , she crept in Her eyes haunted by a strange fear Danced about the old lonely barn But not one glance fell on the boy He watched her and her thoughts Settle down in the hay and into sleep The barn was now dark and quiet With the exception of silent sobs Then suddenly they stopped, In his minds eye they dispersed Like the dark stormy clouds, then He slowly crept up to her But before he could do the ritual Strange fingers griped his hand They had the terrifying grip of death And death was a man!
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Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 2:14 AM UTC
The Forbidden Barn
There was a snail (named Dale) with a very long tail who ventured off into the world. He said to himself (Dale the snail) I'd love to meet a bootiful goil. So in a flash from space, with mucus running down her face, came an alien creature called Joan, She saw a silver line (it was a snail trail) and followed it to see where it goes. And far in ...the distance she saw in an instance at the end of the snail trail sparkling in the sun- A slimy and sweet creature she'd love to meet with a shell on his back for a home. She said:"I do declare, you look dashing and fair" as bubbles oozed from her eyes. Dale just blushed, as his face lit up, and said: "aw you're just saying that you sassy young blob of an alien gawjus sweet thing with no hair :)" She looked at this tiny dream of a slobber, he was in awe at her globber. But their hearts sank at their difference in size. She was glandular large like a bright yellow barge and he was as small as a splarge. A stick insect saw - the tragedy of it all and came up with a very cunning plan. He knew a wizard once who ate snails for lunch, they could trick him to changing her small... As he told them the tale, their faces went pale but their love was too strong for the fear. So they slithered and shlozzered to Joan's flying saucer to find the castle of Wizzy the **** The wizard was waiting with his eyes full of hating and a knife and a fork in each hand. There was garlic and salt that he took from his vault and he drooled on his beard as he sang: "Alien Shpeegle with shnails in shmeegle, a delightful shurprishe for a man! Groggy my groach with shome shlime on my toasht" and he pranced and danced with his band. The spacecraft landed, unexpectant of ambush, the couple wanderd on in. Wizzy swung from a rafter and trapped Dale in a corner, and said: "My you'll go well with my Shtew!" Joan got mad and rolled on to her lad and ****** the wizard into her goo. She suddenly felt all tingly as she turned into a twinky, there was nothing more she could do. The Wizard escaped and poor Dale met his fate, and was smeared on the twinky sliced in two. Wizzy gobbled them up with some glee in his cup, and then succumbed to food poisoning goo. So it seemed that it ended on that dark cold September, for the lovers who's loving was doomed... But on a planet far away at the early break of day two souls bubbled in primordial stew. An amoeba named Dale and an amoeba named Joan were floating in bubbles of gas, So deep the attraction -the magnetized action, they could now be together at last.
0
Dec 11, 2010
Dec 11, 2010 at 1:38 AM UTC
Dale and Joan
There was a snail (named Dale) with a very long tail who ventured off into the world. He said to himself (Dale the snail) I'd love to meet a bootiful goil. So in a flash from space, with mucus running down her face, came an alien creature called Joan, She saw a silver line (it was a snail trail) and followed it to see where it goes. And far in ...the distance she saw in an instance at the end of the snail trail sparkling in the sun- A slimy and sweet creature she'd love to meet with a shell on his back for a home. She said:"I do declare, you look dashing and fair" as bubbles oozed from her eyes. Dale just blushed, as his face lit up, and said: "aw you're just saying that you sassy young blob of an alien gawjus sweet thing with no hair :)" She looked at this tiny dream of a slobber, he was in awe at her globber. But their hearts sank at their difference in size. She was glandular large like a bright yellow barge and he was as small as a splarge. A stick insect saw - the tragedy of it all and came up with a very cunning plan. He knew a wizard once who ate snails for lunch, they could trick him to changing her small... As he told them the tale, their faces went pale but their love was too strong for the fear. So they slithered and shlozzered to Joan's flying saucer to find the castle of Wizzy the **** The wizard was waiting with his eyes full of hating and a knife and a fork in each hand. There was garlic and salt that he took from his vault and he drooled on his beard as he sang: "Alien Shpeegle with shnails in shmeegle, a delightful shurprishe for a man! Groggy my groach with shome shlime on my toasht" and he pranced and danced with his band. The spacecraft landed, unexpectant of ambush, the couple wanderd on in. Wizzy swung from a rafter and trapped Dale in a corner, and said: "My you'll go well with my Shtew!" Joan got mad and rolled on to her lad and ****** the wizard into her goo. She suddenly felt all tingly as she turned into a twinky, there was nothing more she could do. The Wizard escaped and poor Dale met his fate, and was smeared on the twinky sliced in two. Wizzy gobbled them up with some glee in his cup, and then succumbed to food poisoning goo. So it seemed that it ended on that dark cold September, for the lovers who's loving was doomed... But on a planet far away at the early break of day two souls bubbled in primordial stew. An amoeba named Dale and an amoeba named Joan were floating in bubbles of gas, So deep the attraction -the magnetized action, they could now be together at last.
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84
Tubes like snakes slithered through our poetry class along with cliches about love and *** and loneliness. Tea time and crosswords and cookies cure hearts. talk of gumbo and deliciously cold plums will always bring you to mind.
0
Feb 17, 2010
Feb 17, 2010 at 5:15 PM UTC
A Poem for Joey
We nestle into chaos like an old friend’s embrace, Spitting fire-encrusted words sharp as the smack of my palm on freckled skin, Under skyline bespeckled night like ebony, hearts like stone, We became a self-consuming ever-implosive volcano. ***** slithered through our veins igniting synapses into eruption, Your fingernails dug into my palm, your name hoarse on my throat, We crave these embittered words, these scorched nights. Mad as hatters, we beat on, drunkenly gulping down saltwater tears. In the morning I’ll kiss your temple, love. We forget our sins.
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Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 11:19 PM UTC
calamity
i felt a shock when my gaze shifted into your electric green eyes and my gut dropped umpteen stories as a devilish grin spread across your oval face your words slithered up and down my spine like a thousand serpents prepared to strike at the first sight of weakness but i couldn’t keep it— from stumbling out into the limelight it must have been the highlight— of your day because i stuttered and your words sank in and dispensed your venom into my stream of innocence and i just haven’t been the same since
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Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 12:24 AM UTC
basilisk //
Dizzy as a blemished work of art a hollow shell my soul screams With wings as black as a raven, Cupid was perched on a burning tree With laughter, he hissed music, my friend? then pulled out a harp with chains at the end The air became thick as fog slithered in then Cupid began to sing *Once together now torn apart I am not your enemy she was the one who broke your heart and cost you everything So hear me strum my lonely harp and speak of your misery Make your soul mine to keep and her life shall end immediately* With a wave of his hand, I crumpled to my knees Next thing I knew he leaped to the sky and vanished behind the trees With wings as black as a raven, I sing the song of Cupid Cupid and the burning tree
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Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 3:38 AM UTC
Cupid and The Burning Tree