Friday, 11 October 2013



Let the ink bind my bones,
my blood turn black crimson.
And I ask 'Are you sorry?' 
For I am become quarry.

To sleep in the arms of Angels
as they rifle, deep bore.
Do you not see all of me?
Follow sights, don't set free.

Both chas'd and chastised,
feel the fracture, harmony. 
Deep chasm. Dissonance
brought by night, break existence.

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