playing with words

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
words are a sword with double edge... you can chose but never fully grasp the result.

Submitted: August 26, 2012

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Submitted: August 26, 2012



I play with words As lines become my ressurection Out of nowhere they appear Into this oblivion they enter.

Chaos becomes me And drops of my blood On the paper, black ink on my fingernails defiling the chastity of white pages.

If only i can empty this longing Spill the contents of my soul, never dream again, Never sigh, Neither laugh nor cry.

Lower my hand goes So many sensetive spots on my aroused body here and there it roams Like a hungry beast in an empty forest, until the smell of a tiny prey is caught Nostrils alerted a bit closer and the taste of blood, a bitten lip, and a spasmic body. Pleasure brings forth pain ecstatic, erotic,outrages the other hands compulsively transmits The neurotic condition.

First it starts with an introduction the reason behind this  unforgettable madness Then it moves to the result The neverending possesion, and finally the prologue, a chronological addiction to carve words on my pleasurably tortures existance.

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