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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
How will it take for the master to use its aid?

Submitted: November 12, 2012

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Submitted: November 12, 2012




A throbbing need to feel exhilarated, fluctuates its heart into a shivering yearn.
Look up with graceful virtue in the glittering eyes of immaculacy.
It smiles within its glow to every worshiped fantasy of maul, to come at any moment.
Drips of luscious sweat gliding from the body, reluctantly leaving, in turn to meet the floor.
Only then to look down in humiliation, watch the sweat pour.
Erratic steps and taps; motivated fear.
An entity full of raw obscurity, dark enough to drain the rays of the sun, now hovering with a simper.
Sly palpitation transmits an obscene fiend, feasting off every inch of air.
Cultivating, making one thick.
Too soon over-capacitated, vomiting throughout its lips.
Fear no rod.
Spoil the abominable child in heat with black lit Needles and fancy Pears.
Indulge it with dishonorable greed.
Choke on its mouthful desire of misery.
Watch it grow, harden, disperse, then shatter with every gripping hold.
Deliver the surrender, with each new flex, stressed and tested.
Boil it till it turns dry, pry it till it breaks.
Drink it till it is empty, asphyxiate it till its last breath.
Puncture it into numbed penetration, drown it till it liquefies.
To beg please,
Oh please.

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