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deepundergroundpoetry.com
Heroes
Nothing left but the wails of death and my Gothic desires. So pale and cold greeting my eyes. With shapeless fingers plowing my throat leaving cold ashes. Giving birth to the weevils of my mind. Sweet as the batter of your thighs as my shadow awakes to your throbbing ovaries. My heroes have always been vampires, echoing in my mind.
Published 20th Jan 2021
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22nd Jan 2021 6:53am
22nd Jan 2021 5:04pm
