there are no lilacs growing in the paradise,
but the incense of a fresh scar scattered wide
the violet carves no magic in the sky
it barks and hows and sweetly cries
the grass i plod on,
grabs me by its fawn
as i breathe,
in the hollow compartments of night
i wish not to be seen
through crooked glances,
tearing every inch of my muscle
in the name of fine dining
"the stage is set sans the effigy and fire
in course of your earthly delights
oh my mate now, savour the boiling blood
while i cheer myself to grace your supper"
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6 comments:
must admit.....this has left me a little confused :s
Fine tuning. Although I liked draft 1. :)
quite sometime has passed since you updated this space...looking forward for some more dope soon.
i don't write for the ones hiding in the anonymous.
you know how comfortable i feel with the garb of anonymity on..i thot i won't have to hear it at least from you..
which is precisely why i keep asking you to get out of the green GARB
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