Darkness haunts you,
in the most beautiful way. I can't stop replaying, your hands and their ways. Trembled my body, I felt what you felt, I felt what you felt. How wrong it is, I love the marks, you leave on me. Bruises like tattoos, in hidden parts, average eyes can't see. How wrong it is, I love your twisted logic, explosive temper, beatifully tragic. Strike the pain out of me, which stings more, than anything you could do physically. I seek shelter in your body, only solace found in your satisfaction. Like I finally got something right, like you would stay for more than the night. Fill this sillhoette haunted by the cowards, not brave enough to wade through the waters. Drown it with the hope, you're so good at mocking. Soften this vignette, as if you're not like the others.
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Sydne Kilberg"She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something." Archives
February 2016
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