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FallThe passing hurricane I cannot tame
The endless torment of all your pain
It churns the bile that lie inside
And it's face I turn, I hide
To feel soft hands against my skin
How could affection be a sin..?
I hear the woe you scream to me
But I am hiding, I cannot see
I lock my mouth to show my sorrow
I hope in time that you may follow
We are all cowards there's no escape
No matter fake your distorted shape
Afraid to turn from the quiver in my bone
And turn my heart as hard as stone
But adore the sin that only we know
Only a feeling in time could grow
ice through my veins
fire that burnt through my aches and pains
For knowing we'll be cast away
Desperation, hurt and disarray
Is it worth our blood?
A name dragged through mud
Once being precious stone
A shade of jealousy in every tone
Give in to lustrous Call
Witness watch and see you fall
Stone eroded and break to parts
This charcoal being we call our hearts
Affection we know to be a sin
Is passed on through our next of kin
In time continu
NekoMIMI Chapter OneThe wind howled as the drizzling of rain continued to softly pelt against the roof tops; it was the start of a dismal day... At least that's what Lance thought as he peered outside the window. The café wouldn't be busy today Lance told himself as the rain started to pour down like a constant water fall, and he was right, no one had entered the café that day, in fact there was hardly anyone outside in this weather.
That is until Lance noticed someone standing in the rain across the road in front of a bench. 'That's unusual...' he muttered to himself as his curiosity grew more eager... Maybe it was his boredom that made him so intrigued? Even so; Lance was a kind person, he was taught to be well mannered, so on a whim he decided to leave the shelter of the café to go help this person.
Lance walked over to the wonky coat peg, grabbing his dark blue coat then slipping out of the door to cross the street. By the time he had crossed the road he approached the person standing i
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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