Graveyard RequiemMature

*sometimes rhyming, sometimes not*

Sour notes from a severed windpipe,

A graveyard requiem.

Blue falcons perch on rust-silver gates,

Smoke is the veil of a gemini moon.


My lips are pearl grey.

Yours, white-gold, molten against my own.


Track-marks and tombstones, mark my

Words and my hardening veins.

Hit after hit and I

Don't give a shit

About the dead girl in the mirror.


Your fantasies are full of chains,

My collar ties me to the grave.

I'll stand beneath these crimson rains

And gamble away the innocence

You cannot save.


My heart is pulversised beneath

The grinding stone.

The rain subsides,

Now I'm alone.

The End

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