Sorry shall ne'er cross her evil forked tongue. No exploit will she own, for she continues to drink from the glass of forgetfulness. Her unfortunates are doomed daily to hang upon her tainted lover's cross. When they slight her they are tossed aside like fish bones and egg shells.
She will attend a house of worship only to spend her time lying to priests. Her honey falsehoods crawl into their ears like violent whispers. With pruning hooks she castrated my mettle leaving it a useless and battled vessel. Yet she will grow stale and become regret's Mistress alone in her bile. Her past delights clinging to her like maggots to a corpse.
-Johnny V.
No comments:
Post a Comment