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place of the colts bullet

28. října 2007 v 15:36 |  výkriky do ticha
Tears of a screaming child, as there are the soundless cries of a dying man.

Within this sanctum found hidden away,
what is discovered but ribbed ladders to a reality far too great for the hallucinations that of a victim of PCP, and too much Smirnoff.
Those sober stay behind unseen walls
forced to watch the slaughtered become
disconbobulated from luxuries of lives off the streets;

a warm bed, a music to tear them apart limb by limb.

Laughter is silenced by an iron
branding its signature onto innocent, silken flesh.
The fingernails left unclipped;

longer the better for use in bed when being ravaged against ones will.

Eyes are sacrificed for a better picture that will simply rot away,
and thus mold into a lovers black heart, and frozen cruelty.

Sweet sweet kindness
is melded with vanity strong enough to murder
those onced smiled upon and blessed.

Books hold no more meaning, laying half burned
heavily discarded in a monsoon of acidic raindrops.

Counting the sheep before one falls

into a delicate,
world of vast darkened comfort.

Stoned before a trial;
an infant such as one whom cannot yet say its very own name.

water past its futuristic expiration, the panic of natural resources.

The diamonds are nameless daggers;
sparkle the wonderous brand

in the place of the colts bullet.
 

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