Eyes Of An Angel

Seventh Gate

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    I take this gun out of mouth and point it right at you
    Licking warm blood
    Off of soft lips
    Caressing the cold
    Stiffened idea of love
    Inhaling her beauty
    Her encompassing scent
    Soft rain
    Drowns out the light
    Lightly pressing
    Lustful fingertips
    Upon her lips
    Ice cold lips
    That seem to whisper back
    Sweetened songs of seduction
    Stop
    Shallow pools of paling blue reside in her eyes
    Slowly fading, being washed away by warm tears
    So slow, so quiet
    Wash away the dried blood on her lips
    Wash away the memories of his cold embrace

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