spazteca

what words have danced through lips of fire with icy tinge so delicately deliberate and so meaninglessly ascribed to epiphany.
murky waters lie as others have behind eyes open as wounds bearing likeness to obsidian. their frame a fragile structure of truth and deception; voice a mirror unparallel and cracked with the disdain of self, of pre-existing knowledge. all that is left is impossible. predictably...
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One of my favorite pieces of prose, Dante Allighieri of course...

Per me si va ne la citt dolente
per me si va ne l'etterno dolore
per me si va tra la perduta gente

Giustizia a mosse il mio alto fattore
fecemi la divina podestante
la somma sapienza e'l primo amore

Dinanzi a me non fuor cose create
se non etterno, e io etterno duro...
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This broken heart pumps words like razor blades and the broken blood lies in these veins cutting up from inside, tiny tearing holes so slowly it makes me want to cry, but I will keep eyes forward as memories fill the spaces between phrases written on my skin, read them with your lips this is where you seep in. Then you drip on me with...
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S los paradigmas de tu idealismo convocan muerte a la certidumbre de lo hecho, deja ser este el cofre de un cadver esquisito.

~el bleeding lips~