M8th

Bears and trinities darkened corners, brothers two of decades yor, no storm or battle ever torn us. The throne was smashed, the glass all ground, from bear a whimper, the three no sound. No joy, no wrath, no shock, no gasp, broken gears won’t let pain past. “Call the guards”, pointless whims, going through motions no quivering chin. Glass cuts three knuckles, mother is howling, cold wretched cuckold. The moon is shocked, the lamb shits its fur, the three headed Janus doesn’t feel at all. Deep in their tomb, deep in the hiss, three broken brains ticking won’t listen to this.

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