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Rosarians

Scalpels,
Knives,
A dream of severance.
A deliverance of evil,
While living in contradiction…

Although surgical in my analysis of others,
I fail to slap a bandaid on my personal wounds administered by Palms of Death.
A sword of light,
Of all things…

Every kiss blown,
A preinducement of seduction,
Of the finest kind.
Because,
What it wants seems a little too blissful,
Even for my liking…

So,
I kiss back,
But,
I kiss back lightly.
You have to love these hateful relationships.
A plethora of things to be enticed by.
Like,
How dirty we can get and wake up stainless after morning showers.
It steals my heart against my own will…

Blood drips as we become one,
Slicing through tension suffocating our atmosphere.
“Do you love me now?!”
Is spelled out in front of my eyes by tears,
Squinting at the truth.
“I do love you,
In my own sick way,”
I say…

As each voice,
Once uplifting my lips cheek to cheek, Disappeared one by one,
Metal clinged against my wall of pain bottled in wine labels,
Drowning out any sound trying to pierce through Cries of Battle.
Drunk,
Losing my mind with every drink I pour…

A blade against your skin can sort of be,
A love and hate situation…
So much dopamine releases,
The more a blade penetrates my fear of sticking it through,
At least when I think of it,
While in deep thought…

“Stop!”
A voice shrieks.
I call for it back,
To no avail…

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