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Poetry By: zer0

A blind stab in the dark at surrealism.

Submitted:Sep 14, 2009    Reads: 61    Comments: 2    Likes: 1   

The disseminating seeds of a dying, dark tree
Birds that choke and end on these
I hold you close to my dead heart
Where once a theatre could impart
And kiss you hard, our tongues entwine
If love was hate, you would be mine
Now move inside my deathly death
And fuck me while I breathe your breath
Our souls congeal and soon arrest
(We don't have souls, I must contest)
Resign my own fair name for yours:
We are one and we are none


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