Come, wayward stranger, towards me.
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Let us confirm mythologies of love expiration dates.
It's as hard as my rhythmic illusions
Of cigarette-like dreams, weaved in my nightmares:
Explosive and ready to burn painfully
For art's sake.
Take for example the twitching of tongues,
Strained souls feeding on afternoon raptures
Escalating to heights unimaginable but reached,
Taking for granted the dim light in the darkness.
Picturesque maroon emotions displayed explicitly
Shameless because hopes are futile at this time of day.
I detest that, but you groaned, spit and spite;
Convulsions, repulsive, finished.
Breathing kerchieves are useless, Sweet Sigh,
To unstain your wicked infidelities;
Out of breath from sinning too many sins.
No options to pause