Smooth silver-tongued silk,

Static startles and shocks my fingers,

Wet fabric, heavy–

as rigor mortis.

Blood seeping through,

Cold dirty water, shaky hands,

A poignant, evil aroma–

a dollop of bleach,

Staining the spread of sheets,

Shielding the naked eye of her innocence,

Once pure as a virgin bride,

As these silk, smooth silver-tongued sheets,

Is now tainted, damaged, forever more.

Useless garbage, broken and unwanted,

We must get rid of the stench,

That chokes me, threatens my sturdy constitution.

So as the smooth silver-tongued silken, sinfully stained silk sheets,

Tainted by cantankerous temptations,

A tear trails, splashing silently in the silent house.

Rolling the sheets, as if covering a body,

Straight from a scene of a Shakespearian sumptuous scandal,

Absent of Gertrude’s shame as the stains incestuously strain.

The smooth silver-tongued silken static silk sheets,

That is so shockingly stained by a cantankerous tainted whirlwind of temptation

Are burned, ashes suspended and the air grey,

Irritating the eyes, clogging and staining the soul,

Because of the smooth, silver-tongued silken stained silk sheets.

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