Sex in her hair, panic

in her heart

eating away at

subliminal cravings,

standing before the gates of hell,

thrashing wildly against

the torrential beat of fucked up sentiments.

Slick madness, cracked

coherence

smashed reality,

light shines bright

from purgatory.

Who will save our vixen, the one who

drinks from a cup of loathsome words,

the one who spreads her secret

fondled by tainted fingers, the one

who dares not sleep, because

eyes always watch?

Sex on her face,

unnerved by gratification,

escapism,

the only option.

 

Photo Credit: Silentmind8 Flickr via Compfight cc

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