Lathe

Wrought an August eve ‘neath London’s dripping eaves A modern gothic promise of disease Night held rains scent in you, and haven bare Awaiting the grand despair Devil rains wash these burning hands Lest these dirty cuts decree ‘Til fate holds me chaste and numb Bloody tongues won’t cleanse our wounds Come lay in mordant rest, our secrecy to death Tress-silhouetted wet corset, contouring eager breasts Virtuous cerements abdicate their laces fare Décolletage in ruptured skies’ prayers Devil rains wash these burning hands Warm scarlet throat agape Empty hands chaste Bloody tongues seal your fate Wash these burning hands Warm scarlet throat agape Empty hands chaste Bloody tongues seal your fate Cut the poison out Dead hope, I always knew Bleed the burning poison out Sleep will come I always knew Pure Angelique, diabolical fiend Illusion of hope, in veiled devilry Wicked Angelique, wistful of thee Queen of my darkness, and disparate beauty Cruel Angelique, diabolical fiend Blood painted angel Wicked Angelique, my lathe, corrupt unto thee In blackened spirit, soulless beauty Bleed the burning poison out Sleep will come, I always knew Wrought an August eve ‘neath London’s dripping eaves A modern gothic promise of disease Night held rains scent in you, and haven bare Awaiting...

Submitted by johnmansley — Nov 16, 2025