I spoke to you,
in silence,
reverence dripping from
the rusted husk of,
my shuttered mouth.
My voice echoed,
(a true cacophony!)
above the heady stench
of go-kart oil
and
quiet dreams of youth,
barely lived.
But in all the dead-air,
I cant say you heard me.
My arms, my hands were,
frantic, amongst a pile of,
mortar and stone,
struggling, with
weakened bone and sinew,
to become a castle,
of your own;
Protection against an
unforgiving onslaught of,
saline and rabid disquietude.
But in all the shaking,
I cant say you felt me.
Wicked; I am-
A benevolent Circe,
the forsaken flora of
salacious minds,
within walls of paper and steel.
I worship only,
that which trembles.
The palpitations of blood,
the rhyming cadence of flesh,
thrills.
Wicked; I am-
A benevolent Circe,
the forsaken flora of
salacious minds,
within walls of paper and steel.
I worship only,
that which trembles.
The palpitations of blood,
the rhyming cadence of flesh,
thrills.
I spoke to you,
in silence,
reverence dripping from
the rusted husk of,
my shuttered mouth.
My voice echoed,
(a true cacophony!)
above the heady stench
of go-kart oil
and
quiet dreams of youth,
barely lived.
But in all the dead-air,
I cant say you heard me.
My arms, my hands were,
frantic, amongst a pile of,
mortar and stone,
struggling, with
weakened bone and sinew,
to become a castle,
of your own;
Protection against an
unforgiving onslaught of,
saline and rabid disquietude.
But in all the shaking,
I cant say you felt me.