NokiMo
Monique
Monique

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Crisis of Woman

You were a ballast 

In 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.

Crisis of Woman

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