Sad Labels:
dark poetry
,
retrospect
,
sad poetry
there's a bridge that quivers against the strain of gravity. what it crosses over i can't remember. where it leads hardly matters.
the heroes have their capes. and the villains have their plans. it's the victims that the narrative neglects.
the distance weaves its way through our veins. like so much foul medicine.
we chase the horizon. still primitive and hungry for a destination.
her voice was soft as she consented to the surrender.
the taste of it still sweet on her lips.
every turn sharper than it should have been.
her skin silent as the wolves each tore off their pieces.
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