The vow

The v

The vow is a food to a troubled soul,
finding a heavier path within the strips of this wound unhealed

You searched for yourself inside the mob,
but realizes the vow is a rekindled light burning in the midst of unending blood petals.
The first vow was an unending plead and they fed your skin with an unforgivable letter.
That title was a bitch, the flow of words came from a mightier tongue suggesting kill, a heavy word on a battle field trying to sound too nice on an eclipsing tongue,
fondly wrapped into an ageless anger, superseding rescue than a cry of a life to be taken, burnt like that blood flowing heavier from your veins,
pumping so loose from this pool of weapons crying on the valley of your rescue, eternal foridden came as an emotion tippling this rare trauma to a wrecked light,
amber red floating on this horizon like a stream water flowing to join its ancestors down to the ocean.
The middle vow was a fervent prayer resting on this battered soul, curling into a wilted fall of panic, you sat there with eyes spread out to heaven, a shielded cloud without this sun patch dropping this smile of rescue of a forgotten death,
a smirk of a pain craven up wards inside you like a membrane cut too loose. That prayer fell of your lips, your tongue pleading on this wreckers for a loose death, but your fate came from an unknown path, striking you like a light lost into a shadow.
The last vow was a group of hooked heart,
locked inside an over blazing anger. Because you kissed a man, this darkness, this weep, this cries fell upon you like you were a rebel, no man shall fulfill this myth.
This unshielded ghost is still into you, trying to lock itself into you forever, so you can never transformed into corpse with the words ‘kill’, ‘grill’, for this sound is a tomb blessed with an over wrath flame. That vow ran over you with weapons, breaking your bones, burning your soul, preparing to join this flamed dust clothing over your face, your torso. The noise a love of a man to another, turning this magic of a soul into abracadabra, a wilted corpse strangled between the soul with a steel singer. That vow broke into two, the first an answered prayer of death, a message of the angels putting down a tire over your neck, shrinking those tears and making you prepare for a lost mystery to be found with this flame. A liquid substance raining over you, squirmy and shining, that match was your last breathe falling over a burning body. The second, your scream forming a symphony of a trapped soul in hell, the devil’s pity was upon you, the wrecker ended this vow with a sigh on their lips, for this death is a vow, promising you that a death on earth is a stronger fate struck behind the bones you bear.

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