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Image for the poem Heroes

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.
adagio
Written by adagio
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