Open the door to tranquility where I can see you standing on the dew dampened creek bank at sunrise and contemplating the eddies swirling amongst the reeds that sway in rhythm and harmony, utterly defiant of the chaos that tries to shake their foundations.
Open the door to my broken and tattered heart of dispair Where I can see with my eyes dripping in blood your kindness so rare Standing on my chest with your sharp cleated pair And stabbing the head which now ceases to care
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Open the door to THE FRIDGE where I can see MRS. BUTTERSWORTH standing on MY LEFTOVER CHINESE FOOD and KISSing the LAND O'LAKES LADY.
Open the door to tomorrow where I can see robots standing on Mars and planting the first extraterrestrial pumpkins.
Open the door to tranquility where I can see you standing on the dew dampened creek bank at sunrise and contemplating the eddies swirling amongst the reeds that sway in rhythm and harmony, utterly defiant of the chaos that tries to shake their foundations.
Open the door to ecstasy where I can see you standing on the edge of the bed and taking the treatment.
Open the door to what's beyond the door where I can see what's beyond the door standing on something beyond the door and keeping the door closed.
-Sartep
Bad Goth Poetry (meaning good goth poetry)
Open the door to my broken and tattered heart of dispair
Where I can see with my eyes dripping in blood your kindness so rare
Standing on my chest with your sharp cleated pair
And stabbing the head which now ceases to care
-Sartep
Open the door to disdain where i can see hope standing on the outside and living the lie.
Open the door to my mind where I can see depression standing on heavy black boots and kicking living crap out of me.
Open the door to Christmas where I can see Harold the Angel standing on broken glass and flipping the bird.
Okay. I will admit it. It was me.
That was very brave of you, Anon.
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