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From Dante's Doorstep
What cynical gnostics still rot in this place,
A deadened distemper; dysfunctional chaste.
Enfeebled ideals were deft to portray,
What a vile and detestable role they did play.
They ramped up their vices, consulted in spite,
By demons possessed with a rapturous bite.
Asmodeus, it seems, was well in his season;
As Nietzsche confound to quell with this demon.
A stark reminder of the war at home.
As is mine to relive, I am left to drone;
The blood in my throat, from the debt of a spinster.
Apple's for Eve on the playground of this minster.
And still I parlay, the need to make quarrel,
As the leaves left me poisoned; toxic to this laurel.
I still cry when I smell it, the fire of hatred.
Left to ponder their lies, was nothing left sacred?
Insane I may be, torn and dejected.
I thought in her arms I would be protected.
But fate loathes the calloused, perverse and diseased.
As it saw to keep me in exile, and on my knees.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More