The RoadA Poem by PerditionShe was waiting in a coat of indescribable bliss, hovered with the oak and old maggoty skies, walking hand under wound through long spindled weaves. Her words, forever mired in palettes, a bricolage of miles blushed impressionistic; the dreams of sleepy leaves. Wings spilled into streams of serenity from her eyes her opiates, praying for a soul to kill, this huntress bound to the arrow of breath. It was, in end, an origin of heir there too a vascular beast; mindless. She called and I consumed in lavish fate her lair; Addicted to a rose.
© 2015 Perdition |
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1 Review Added on October 14, 2015 Last Updated on October 14, 2015 AuthorPerditionVAAboutTwo quids from the clown of a soul: Keep writing, otherwise I refer to Mr. Cobain below, till then go " to dream of untriangulated stars" Mr. Robinson... more..Writing
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