this isn’t goodbye

Malicious derisions, my precious perished with prestigious precision, a kinder love, a kinda love, reminding me I’m borrowed, blessed, a sign, signed, assigned from above. An angel coven, covering silver skies in the coveted distance, distant wishes upon stars thirteen by the dozen. Seedlings, inklings, sinking into pretty dreams. It is what it is and everything is as it seems. Healing seams. He’s stealing me freely, breathing me, feeling me, closer than…

These soul searching incisions, spiritual convictions from higher planes forgiven, delivering salvation in militant mirror images, my other significant, filled with stinging lingering willingness.  Spilling equivalents, proficient delinquents, we’d swirl with an ancient grace if you let us, original faith, spinning shillings for every thought from another place, aching for different positions placating platforms interfaced, hands torn and interlaced as if inches make any bit of difference in the shade.

Shy lock. Demure lost, in a crowded ring, brimming with suspicion, dimming submissive whims, you’re my distinctive fission from way back when. A shrouded race. Saviour. Save your link. Savour the taste of my think. Butterfly diamonds glistening, green aurora, you’re my aura, couldn’t see your name for the force of Arabic print. It’s long, this. Longing for a sovereign with distinguished trinkets, opinions, his dominions, crowning him ruler and king, extinguishing anguish with his reasoning blinks.

You leave, me with no choice. A silent voice. Suffocating in circumstance, too much to take in. Waiting. You’re creating a new life with a debate that you’re hating. Collecting tears in coffee cups, I let you in.  A diaspora of indecision eclipsing bitten lips, looming shapes, shadows, scars across moving starkness rapes my lucid landscape, a whirlwind of kisses, stalls from disgrace laced with a list of misses, arching traits, faithless takes or fated mistakes…

Cursed, sitting there like it hurts. Rubbing salt into wounded dirt. A cut so deep, it blinds my being. Be in. Spirits lost, shredded in the wind. Every sin. Organisms. Killing each ounce of pound of flesh of every living single thing. Photocopying ink, against scraped, faked, inscribed, embroidered writing in golden thread. Residing, I’m fighting. I’m at war, it’s the end of it all. I cry for freedom, so that I don’t have to fall anymore.

ink is free, so...

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