You'd keep me in line
I've lain with monsters in my time
Naive and so coy
I can't hear the sound of my voice over you
Rushing to catch the fleeting moment,
a hand upon the cheek
Now it calls to me
It echoes out in sighs
That I'll be a monster in due time
These iron doors look promising
Desire in forms, like a wellspring
A heavy heart is beating, it knows of death and unbelieving
An army only needs a few holy scribes and architects to codify all the things you want to keep or don't respect. A cutting form of deceit. I was wrong. I concede.
No use in being kind, I've killed monsters in my time. This is how it ends:
Husks of people pierced through in red.
Hollow
Hollow cheekbones. Nothing. Nothing
They don't care if we hear
They don't care
In hushed whispers
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