Lards of Jealousy enchant monsoons of Lust,
secreting stains of ingrained mistakes.

Demons of Passion haunt reflections of Joy.
Serpents of Wisdom instill Fear.

Mouths see what only tongues can hear.
Taste the granules of a thousand sins.

Lies upon beds, upon needles they balance,
slip and be impaled.

Sorrow envelops company,
devouring its every Passion and Spirit.

Like the death of a thousand histories,
the circle is more than just a globe.

 
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