sVend

I am the villian in your storybook,
the dragon you valiantly splatter across the pages
in the final chapter.

I am your most violent words,
the sound of breaking and the loss of innocence.
(I am the glass shard in your heart,
the inescapable wound).

I pretend that the syllables of your name
do not violate the edge of my tongue,
but you dull me down to a gentle curve
with your veritable virtue.

It is not your body I wish to victimize,
but your soul; I want to view the parts
that make you less than whole.

(you cut me open, vivisect my most
important organ until it beats only for you).

I am not variable, I am constant.
(i am still ticking between your fingers).

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Published by

ianachronism

I am made of magic, madness, and moonlight

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