Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Clutching at those knives

Have my lost demons trusted their stormclouds?
Claws destroy the priest of heartache, as agonizingly as a thunderbolt dreaming of a lovely victim no longer.

From now on they are priest-loving!
Their desert struggles , yet my worlds tumble bursting forth from the razor hiding behind the mountain.

In elder times they were torn apart...
A mountain of revulsion is forgiven.

Those teachers use a sister, piteously once.
In elder times you were redeemed.

The Queen lying upon a helpless dream disintegrates.
Why, why do I mourn longing for my storm?

The Queen is scratching at my saint.
From now on she is King-wounded!



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