Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Shapes of the Coil

Off towards her, a continuous chase
Scream like she's British, although she is of French descent
Tear off your clothes, they will only slow you
The only game she will humor is that of the chase

Take a hold, capture her in plaid
A pearl tipped tree in a speckled wood
Take shape of the coil
Interest her in a train towards stone covered roads
Where porcelain eyes will pierce the glow of her cheeks
Through the tunnel will be answers

Shake them into me
Repeat them so it becomes my inner self
words become an illness
letters a virus
eating at my very soul

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