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In the twilight of a sibilant heart
spinning mouths
embroider silk embraces
from the sky of impersonated longing.
Eggshell gestures
barter cankered covenants
as the snarling flint of skin
grinds against the whetstone of lustful danger.
When pain becomes a broken hunger
who is the lover, and who is the knife?
Confusion. Turmoil. A decision has to be made. Is it my heart or my head that speaks.
Fistfull of xanax
rip it out,rip it out

[Image: ripped_out_heart_by_oiseaulibre-d3b21zw.jpg]
consistency is the hobdob
of small minds[

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