There we strolled into the abyss of her guilt.
Stories she told only to the quiet world
Far beyond her fear of the judging eye
She was a nun to the broken church
Temple torn down
Like yesterday the sun did not move her
Nor did its disappearance shove her eyes to see
Clearly today wasn't the same, alone is so lone
And she'd walk past the shrugging cold and the vicious heart
The ones of titanium steel that resounds only what it heats
Seizure of pleasure, like Ceaser's treasure to be stolen
Not even the music of the master can be loud to the whispers of this action
And that was where she knew, over was ever and never was sober
Dreams in her eyes, yet tears bailed to see the world
Touch her skin and bury her seed of pain in the grounds of darkness
You are not silver cause you won't rust
A witness to my own mind, a car wrought in the field
I am now a tainted skin
A broken hair
I am the sword that pierced his virgin body
By the same Brutus, Judas's nephew
I am now a cancerous cell infected to no host
Because I now have a venue to stroll like an abyss of guilt.
I have a story to tell the quiet waters
So they rage with waves and pour to console
That my Eve never found its Adam
And my life may have just found its hell.
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