Edgar
edgar, you're a heart eating canibal; i swear,
preyed on my soul, picked it apart with pink
tinted nails, while whispering raven colored
lyrics in tongue tied strains, her body ached.
a beautiful unbecoming, you said to me; she
simply screamed for a sinner's delicacy; then,
when days became poverty's raven, you drank,
you drank impossibilities (calling'em prophecies)
for centuries, then claimed them as you're own.
edgar honey, what does that poetry mean? 'cause
all that's sewn to skin is the forgotten confessions
and sun dipped tragedies; & know, she's no saint,
even if her eternity claimed your lips whispering
as though you're the savior to our dreams. yet,
i suppose cadavers are distinct immortalities &
nightmares are dreams that've soaked reality.
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Dmoral
it my defense, i haven't cross posted in a while. btw, yes i'm a proud Poeian. also yes, that's another word i just made up but it is what it is soo