Poll: andfjanjfndjakdngas.
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purple.
1 14%
blue.
6 86%
Voters: 7.
#1
Awkward for Spiders


I'm several days past discontentment.
Finding out that you're relentless.
Take my spine,
Stand it upright.

I'm staring out at your reflection.
Questioning your next intention.
Drop the blinds,
Kill the daylight.


Trying to hide from your vacant eyes.
Please forgive me.


I'll take the blame for your confessions.
Be the source of your redemption.
Undo this sin,
that keeps us guessing.

I'm looking out through bloodshot eyes.
I see there's nothing left in life.
A never ending sleep.
I think that's just what I need.


It's only through this silence that I'll harbour your regrets.
It's only through this distance that I'll trade my innocence.
It's only through this silence that I'll harbour your regrets.
It's only through this distance that I'll trade my innocence.


Trying to hide from your vacant eyes.
Please forget me.


I'm several days past discontentment.
There's only one way we can end this.



this king of machines.

this king of machines,
wed seventeen times to the cobblestone streets,
wrapped his pedigree wounds in saline tourniquets.
his crutch of snakes,
lips split with somnolence, lowered him into his grave.
an eighteenth skeletal angel eclipsed these failed ribs.
her aura sentenced the crow's feet to the gallows.
perforated, she would still outshine the brightest of purples.

when she opened her mouth, her words would slide out
through her lips like ribbons,
and they'd suture stiletto wounds in his anaemic lungs.
derailed by whispers, he would speak in anagrams:
disguised as a cypher, his words would read:
"i'm in love."

this king of machines
severed seventeen nooses with the guillotine.
but she faltered; trees grabbed at her ankles and lashed at her throat.
this one-eyed serpent,
restless in malachite, she breathed like a cavalcade;
her marbled desires had turned themselves into forked tongues,
and for this, she sentenced herself to the gallows.
her womb became unshackled once again, and she was free.

and the crows would peck at the hole in her neck
until she fell to ribbons,
and they'd syphon the warmth from inside his anaemic lungs.
her atonement proved lachrymal, and he wept cryptography.
his tears were deciphered, and they read:
"i'm in love."

this king of machines
wed eighteen times to the guillotine.
the dagger became a source of escape,
and he whispered his last words to its blade:
"i'm in love."

I just want to sleep forever.