Thine heart was a dove,
more white than the cold winter snow...

Tipping, and sipping,
goblets of cyanide (an agonizing ride...

I've touched the flame of chaos
in the hollow chest...

Every breath, remedied from Her lungs,
is a midsummer night's breeze...

Voice anonymous and unheard,
tongues twisted and slurred...

Sundown flares in fragmented smiles,
masterpieces broken, though not unspoken...

In the summer shades of grief,
layed to rest like a fallen leaf...

Ruins of an old folks home,
ancient devils locked away...

Thine embers are gone,
Or yet, cold and perhaps blue...

I went to see her dance one day,
In the fluorescent flower fields of May...

From maidens fair,
and hissing serpent hair...

***Again, I hope you like the new style I believe...
Hardwired to conceive...