Mark Smith

Midnight Lust

Im shaking, Im nervus, my spine tingles, my legs are weak,
I hear the moon crying his song of weiling winds, trees snap and dropp their seed.
The colour of the lights above the cityscapes bring voices out of her city walls.
I lie in a state of failing comatose in this busom of the city, and tonight her voice shouts with ferver and lust out of every wind, out of every breeze.

Im awake, my eyes are open, all I see pitchdark.
My mind conversing with itself, trying to find the cure...


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