And it is Real

February 10, 2011
Let’s send a plea to the shadows cast upon our walls.
There’s a rosy cage above our bed, waiting for our slumber.
Our cheeks are swollen, ripe with crime of passion.
Mums the word, a quiet game of secrets, hush.
The walls drip down, leaking punishment, drip lush.
Spill your thoughts, partner, this is our last night.
The shadows whisper tunes of regret, smearing angst upon our faces.
It’s peeling the paint, melting our spirits.
The time is now to face our sins; we can no longer run from our fate.
Drip, down fall the relics of our past.
They drape themselves over us; a spider’s web of lust and youth.
Our cries are lulled by the shadows’ murmurs.
Our past hums a sinful tune; the time has come to taste our fortune.
Fortunate, no more.
The shadows leap down; they take what’s left of our spirits.
Ashes of youth waft down from the blackened ceiling.

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