display | more...

Either all we can be cannot be foretold,

or what we become is what we behold.

She rode through the desert, a little girl lost,

together they formed a religion he thought.

She sat at his table and slept in his bed,

she fed him the spiders that lived in her head.

He gave her a god and he offered her grace,

she said that he fell down a spiral staircase.

She called him a bastard, he called her a whore,

warrants in hand, police knocked on her door.

Either all we can be can still be undone

or what we behold is what we become.

A pound of flesh does what the bones never do,

she bit him in two, she bit him in two.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.