Blackberries

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Blackberries

Deepest shades of bloody red,





















dribble from my chin.





















Wipe away the thick dripping liquid

















with ice cold hands, and























stain fingers sticky and red.

























Branded...



























Like a traitor...





































While eternities fly pass...

Another bite out of succulent flesh




















and feel cells, like bubble wrap,


















pop between iceberg teeth, like



















exploding fireworks -





















blue, red...































Purple, black...


























bruises beaten into damp,
































dripping sides of the fungus































that forgets to take the stains off of the tongue...


















Thickened wine – to be lusted after.

Blood spatters on the floor;





















clots together in large fleshy masses...
















Big dark blobs marking spotless carpet -






















marking the spot on a treasure map -



















as a bite sends showers of red ink to the ground


















in an innocent pitter patter.

Sour juices run down























an addicted throat, gagging

























for the drug of a new mouth watering bite,

















leaving behind the cavern of Bluebeard’s mischief



















in a once fresh mouth, as if





















the wives themselves...




















May be hidden...



























Between blood stained teeth

























or hanging from the ceiling of a
Mouth bursting with






















heavy perfumes of fruitful snacks


















and hypnotic aromas which entice a victim....


















to an
Early,
Sticky,
Death.

Just on left.

A singular morsel left,





















to be desired in this























blood thirsty slaughter.





























Pick it up with two shaking fingers...


















Delicately play with it between them...

















Tight, knotted textures, noted and remembered,


















of squishy bubbles, writhing and pulsating















in sticky palms.
























And sweet smells savoured,





















which a sour tongue screams for.

Curiosity squeezes juices out...



















makes ends meet, and makes fresh blood




















run over snagged fingernails,




























but still leaves behind the distorted flesh...


















Popped into the mouth...
























which dances like a puppet on a tongue...
























before swallowed.


I then leave the room....as if the deed was never done.





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