The Raven’s Word

Certain words bring forth certain ideologies. A mixture of cantankerous misanthropes. The needle and the thread. Sew back together the lost lives of the dead. A lost part of life. Maintained through obsession. It is not depression, a recollection, or even masturbation. I am the harbinger of necrotic tendencies. The death within every breath you breathe. It is life I incinerate as the soul becomes disbursed. This is when she looks at me in her peculiar way. Behind her eyes. She thinks of me between her thighs. There are no lies. There are no cries. Only the blissful decadence of what lies within. Her hands and thoughts. Violently caressing me from within. The inner longings of her passion. Screaming loudly to be heard. Wings of a feather. Words once remembered. Fly high within the night sky. Along with the raven‘s word.

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