BLISSTo look into his eyes—Those that scheme your own demise—Is to relinquish every selfish desireTo go so farAs to blindly light your own funeral pyreAnd only relishIn that lavish gift of insanityTo crave his glances,His graces, his subtle advancesIs to delve into unforgiving vanityTo sigh into his embrace—Your mind gone away without a trace—Is to be consumed wholly and completelyTo give in andSuffocate in silence—alone—discretelyAnd with bated breathLove the very essence of what is himTo carve out your own heartBury it with him—to never be apartIs to sicken yourself with sweetes
The Clock StruckThe clock struck nineThe illusion of a beautiful womanWhat madness can this be?She is calling out to meMy name my name on her lustful lipsAnd now my hands pressed on her hipsOh! Her smile! Her caress!That croon which must be blessed!The clock struck tenThe temptations of a temptressThis woman, so beautiful in every way,With my heart, she does recklessly playHer eyes so dark, yet brightly glowingHer hair so soft and gently flowingHer skin so silky cannot be soiledBut to the touch, is so deathly coldThe clock struck elevenThe prayer without the beliefWhat this gorgeous being is, I don't botherYet hold
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