'Twas noontime in the forest of pitch,
Where savage faces were stenciled and stitched,
Where wicked legs were made to walk wickedly to the
Wicked places of which she talked of despicably -
'Twas evening’s cool when our heart returned
From the place in the sun where it had been spurned,
Where the eyes of our desires fell to the fire
And the ties of what inspired dwelled in the pyre -
The thickness of the trees encasing the twitch,
The savage faces made of stencils and stitch,
Towards the safety of her arms did I run,
From that place where I had been spurned in the sun,
From the fire where the eyes of our desire dwelled, in
The pyre tied to where that which inspired fell,
To you! to you! my sweet Annabel, to you!
From these licking tongues of Hell! to you,
As the tones from the bell bring to me the swell
Of the peace in the fires where the eyes of
Our desires and the ties that inspired fell -
In the forest of pitch are the demons of my soul,
Stenciled and stitched and blackened and old,
Rotting away at the pits of my hope, hanging
Their gaping faces from an old, rotting rope -
Crying in torment as i run to the place
Where my drifting maiden
will hide my streaked weeping face,
And you, my dearest darkness, my heart's evil twin,
Will laugh as I laugh, a mirrored-madness grin,
And we both shall lavish in this one love of me,
Our last return to heaven's breast, in the
Sweet arms, sweet arms of our Annabel Lee.
Birth sign: Taurus
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