Array ( [sid] => 138928 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Salvation Blade [time] => 2007-12-01 17:07:55 [hometext] => [bodytext] => I wouldn't scrape you off the floor.

The cold tile, deep brown. The color of feces, the color of your eyes.

You are not moving, not breathing, sinking into void oblivion.

The paranoia, feather light .

The paranoia sharp as razor steel against a newborn throat.

The final release.

I am free from the beautiful monster that held me without touching me.

Posessed me without wanting me

I am leaving the blade I name Salvation deep inside of you.

My perfect penetration.
[comments] => 1 [counter] => 189 [topic] => 13 [informant] => Reaver [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 7 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Salvation Blade


Salvation Blade
Date: Saturday, 1st December 2007 @ 05:07:55 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: Reaver
I wouldn't scrape you off the floor.

The cold tile, deep brown. The color of feces, the color of your eyes.

You are not moving, not breathing, sinking into void oblivion.

The paranoia, feather light .

The paranoia sharp as razor steel against a newborn throat.

The final release.

I am free from the beautiful monster that held me without touching me.

Posessed me without wanting me

I am leaving the blade I name Salvation deep inside of you.

My perfect penetration.


This poem is Copyright © Reaver


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