Underneath The Riddle Of The Burning Frost. Poem by Ace Of Black Hearts

Tongue made of needles.
Just bite down.
Pleasure in pain.
Dethroned and defamed.
Getting inside my head.
Trying to terrorize.
But my blood is thicker then your water.
Fickle friendly obsession.
Death, deadly, desperately.
Tell me can you close your eyes?
Well I can mine.
Not a second look upon the forgotten brook.
I don't even remember her or you.
Cold icicles placed directly upon my lips.
They stick and I rip anyways.
The blood runs.
The ink drys.
Sealed with fire.
The burning frost.
Must prevent any further infection.
A cauterized rejection.
Nothing left connecting it.
Oh what does he mean?
Thrown hands in the air wishing I would come clean.
But don't you like my riddles?
They are the truth underneath.
A place where the lava still runs wild.
No forced path, no forced location.
Out of weakness it travels nothing else.
The soil does not grovel where we want it to.
Kneeling before who.
I'm sorry I don't even know you.