Monique
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Crisis of Woman
🕑 Added 2017-02-28 06:41:23 +0000 UTC You were a ballastIn all my unrest
In moments of malice
I felt you divest
And your burdensome silence
Is too much to digest
Growing like callous
Into the veins of my chest --
Like vine in the lattice
I wandered, aimless.
Emerged from the forest
And sauntered abreast
To the mouths of the chorus,
Over thin seas of glass
I was an Alice,
Much drink to ingest.
I entered the palace
With blood on my dress
And beneath tender softness
Was carefully caressed.
Child, borne of nonsense
The fingers, they impressed
In the hem of my modest...
So assuredly aggressed
The hand of such promise
Within which I'm assessed
Once; hand of my solace
I felt it molest.
Tween the buttons of my bodice
Through mine window and valence
Kept the sins in me honest
And deflowered, like August
Slowly, petals acquiesced
Shown their meddle and undressed
And in language, did digress.
Stricken by severe imbalance
Whilst rhyme and rhythm coalesced
Subtleties of reason obsolesced
Becoming lost and godless.
And what silent significance,
Lies in secret caverns below the senses
Accessed through a coerced, "yes"
Yet, worry not, if Heaven should befall us
If the goddess should recall us
For all strong and striding sentients,
My skin will make your repentance.
