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I’ve willingly lain in your lap of thorns, drawn in your poison, listened to your whispered oaths of silent detachment, an echoless void of sweet floating velvet with unspoken promises of my demise.
I followed you gladly, succumbed to my recklessness, heeded your every summons and I questioned not a word as I sank into your controlled emotionless state.
Empty black eyes stared back at me through the mirror, gaunt of face with lifeless lips, indifference and black became the clothes I wore, and impassive the language that I spoke.
I have so little strength left, my blood is draining through the wounds left by your thorns and as it colours red the rocks beneath my feet they feed your power, while I become a cold and lifeless form, falling, just as promised, to my demise.