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Jan 8
You'll find refuge in my poisoned soul,
The pain of slaps your atonement owed.
We'll merge as one, quivering in the whole.
No air to breath, no escape to be known.

But you tend to crave your body even more,
Once defiant, an innocent maiden.
Now you're selling yourself during the chore,
And cry day by day in sorrow laden.

I am mercy, your idol, your god.
Kneel, no prayers need be spoken or trod.
For me your faith nothing but drivel,
Cause I am the author of your testing trial.

My poison you'd call it a cure,
The bruise will serve as a mark of despair.
After taking the "cure" you'll be blessed I am sure,
Despite knowing it's kinda unfair.

Your sins aren't redeemedΒ  in a haste,
You will later repent their taste.
Your spirit and body are the property of mine,
Cause you obeyed to me all the time.
Written by
Kamila
49
   The Romantic
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