Satire on Goth Love.
The Blackness fills my organ, my life forfeit
as breath draws death into myself.
Love forsakes me, my wants destroy me, the
Thing I desire is nothing but a lifeless lover.
My lips caress, needingly, the tip of my loves
Visage. Bleach white, my fingers draw forth
along the beauty’s length. I breathe in the
esscence I desire, my organ in question tightens.
Le Petite Morte, my life expediated
To finality, as I imbibe the loveless taste.
A filtered musk I draw forth within myself
And for a while am contented.
The organ I feel tighten, lung.
The Blackness, the love, nicotine flavored phlegm stick.
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