Kristen’s Death Rays

Raven hair, and dark, hooded eyes.
Her unshed tears that never dries.
Hazel eyes, like a shallow grave.
Broken thoughts on a poetic lathe.
 Ask for a cigarette, so I can talk to her.
On what damnable thing can we confer?
My own heart is filled with silent knives
and the regret of unsullied poet wives.
 She gives me one, even smiles, even bright.
Angels never die when they fall from a height.
We just become bitter and unsure, ready to burn.
That we go on living is a truth you’d do well to discern.
 And, like that, the moment is over, and I go on my way.
I fixate on her unadorned, pale pink lips, the death they betray.
I want to taste those plain lips, and lust mainlines, infernal high.
She looks at me, knowing my heart, sending death rays on the sly.
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