Enslavement of Beauty

When you fall asleep in the evening, sans fear for the rigid darkness You go horseback riding through your dreams right to the meadows of esteem When the hunger sweeps the night In another red wine blight All my grief and all the believes that I neve

Craving hands carved in my back If love was present I'd make it crack Cynical tripping from here to there It'll turn out less painful if I don't care Sweetest dearie Mother Mary ramble, rumble the sanguine stumble Discipline disciple queen smell the

Eerily... I explore the lacuna in her impurified virginity Trample these dreams, I still wish for her flesh to be deserted Gracefully, jetblack and green eyed I suffer the havoc in praise of profanity Speak of the devil, even devils get seducted Fait

Already wounded-I wonder if I would dare to be stabbed by the thorns of virtue Such a sight, petite and illegal-a specimen of beauty in shapeless splendour Haunted by her image in blank dismay, I kiss and embrace the dreaming adventure of the dainty,

A precious, mouldering pleasure 'tis to meet an antique book, in just the dress his century wore; a privilege, I think, His (venerable) hand to take, and warming in our own, a passage back, or two, to make to times when he was young. His quaint opini

Blister'd be their envious tongues, cut 'em well like a cunt yet to be satisfied had I only the poison mixed, the sharp vengeance knife, the suicide whilst dry sorrow drinks our blood, the torture still roars in dismal hell the mortal paradise of suc

The artifice virginal air became the odour of sinful obsession we subsequently trespassed the boundaries of apt behaviour A midwinter night's gleam, almost bereaved of sympathy we drank from all those feeble hearts, we were the masters of deceit Bohe

[Ole Alexander Myrholt 2008] All good books have one thing in common they tell you that these dreams are not just dreams thus confirming the extent of our depression and the sole intention... All my dreams are truly wicked if I cannot destroy it I ha

So many a glorious morn have I seen the sun gracing the mountain-tops with its light kissing with tender lips the meadows green gilding pale streams of alchemy with heavenly blight Even as my sun one early morn did shine with all its triumphant splen