Hell High Noon


A tale a glow the pinkish white butterflies and the rose exposed love to be bled. It held us close in swirl of red glitter that masked them in blood pouring.
It is on top of a growing mountain in the sound of her voice grotesque of scented flowers moist to my ear.

At the stairs in the woods she would come near and far from Death Valley at the noon of war.
The stairs would appear all white with a purple outlines.
It laces her face as she would walk up as snowfalls bloody.
I stand struck in awe of the beauty shadow her that of an enchanting succubus.

The twenty steps to go to her my dear you eliminate and I look into her eyes. She is the pale of her face the dark brown strand of hair, the grey bluish of her eyes.
The sweet of her smile is covered in red lighting her clothes that is.
I am waiting near the top in an auburn skin tone in a black suit.

You come to me with and I grin and you grab frost firm my hand then as we begin to mating in a step circle of fire. This was in a lightly dense fresh cold
while trees started to regrow that died previously.
Your body warms my soul as yours do to mine to know at we are here for real.

This is to love each other without fear in long of the year cry a tear of blood puddles in a scene of a tragic leer.
Where it is gone to dream is now in this moment with you a raw cut is open for us to protect our bond of trust.
It is in the sands of rust lands time through us.

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This Poems Story

The disgrace of an connection created out of bond for the love the darkness spirit.