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The rapist chases me in my dreams until morning,
I miss each sunrise with unfocused reality.
What little time I have for myself,
Rests on such conflicting company.

Peel back the aching skin,
Hands delve into protruding bones, wrapped in tender sin,
A heart submitting to the trap of the ribcage,
Unfurl the poison of another, the tainted touch of a perfect portrait.

Madness like the drumming of a leaking tap,
Early hours are where an insomniac dies alone.
A victim of a damaged subconscious,
Do we change the world, or does the world change us?
©2009-2010 ~affirmation
:iconaffirmation:

Author's Comments

We can pretend it didn't happen, that it doesn't exist, we can fake a smile, but in the early hours when we're alone, we think about the things we spend our day hiding and running from.

Comments


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:iconjoey-jordison666:
The World Changes Us

--
Vivid>Air
:iconaffirmation:
Thanks for the fav long time no see/speak

--
Oh show me the way to the next whiskey bar, oh don't ask why. Oh, don't ask why.
:iconjoey-jordison666:
im way to busy, fuck being an adult

--
Vivid>Air
:iconaffirmation:
Dear Diary, my teenage angst has a body count... :P

--
Oh show me the way to the next whiskey bar, oh don't ask why. Oh, don't ask why.
:iconzerotonine:
that's actually good. i like the flow and how the words fit together here. nice piece :nod:

--
the artist is the creator of beautiful things.
Oscar Wilde.
:iconaffirmation:
Thank ya muchly =)

--
Oh show me the way to the next whiskey bar, oh don't ask why. Oh, don't ask why.
:iconzerotonine:
de nada ;)

--
the artist is the creator of beautiful things.
Oscar Wilde.

Details

February 13, 2009
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