O, Fortuna

The white flame starburst
exploding forth
from black velvet words,
An ice-fire trail glittering sharp.
Silver-toned chains, they were,
Stretched taut
over the adrenaline pump
Of glistening wet muscle
And diamond hard walls.
The ravening child-soul
Ripped savagely by the chill blade,
Reaching still for crystal shard hope,
threading snow-skein innocence
Along the glass-strewn gray matter frame.
A regular trip through the looking glass
Polished with razor blades
And sprinkled with blood stain petals,
the structured strigen mask
Cracking with a gunshot voice
beneath the caressing fingertips
of double-edged trust.
-Paradoxes, two for one, sir.
Step right up.




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