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The Spark is Up and Running

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Summary: A poem, insane Spike “speaking” to Buffy

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
BtVS/AtS Non-Crossover > Dark > Spike-CenteredYonaEzonFR1313580013929 Jan 1329 Jan 13Yes
In this poem I used Cut up and google poetry techniques. So Google and Queen of the Slayers by Nancy Holder are kind of co-authors.

The Spark is Up and Running

A poet. A child in the basement.

               Play so decorated.

               Every day along the sound,

...the wall of cadavers.

                              Fluorescent complex, their skin.

                              Song of the fangs, the lights, they want.

My body.

               Singing her beauty.

               Quickly rotating. My brains leak

basement, and I will eat.

                              Back to the pitch-black position.

               We are extremely large.

Milk of your voice, burns

                              A heart, the stiff with a strangled enchantment.

                              Odors at the mouth of the world. No sweat.

                I opened it, ... ... ... maybe

I wake up amidst your body.

Happily wavy freshness.

                               then breaking the darkness with the daytime TV.

                              Perhaps the only reason:

               big hazel eyes, the time

interrogate the box of whine.

Along only audio.

                Getting myself, immensely.

                               Stars vomit.

                              Age now left the...

               mud cadaver, must have been

moral fiery tears.

                Wretched child, a lung disease

                              corner of the mouth wants those sanctions.

                              Irrigate the eyes,

               the spark is up and running.

I opened my eyes.

               Bodies heat up when we were always

                              in a glass.... those fragments.

                              Enchantment stinks

                Back at the head decorated with the birds.

I opened the drain again. Didn't I?

                Living along with you.

                              Dry lovemaking.

                               The day she turned me, my eyes were leaking, yet,

               I opened the existence with a smirk.

My forehead.

It is burning through my neck.

                Early years, eventually the sand.

                               The animal ripped

                              woman who took my...

               wretched bunch of flowers.


Dry the girl, even more sticky blood.

                              Your body was discovered under mine

                               the violent one, those apple trees,

                              perhaps are the reason for the picket f...splinters.

                I was a soft, fuzzy party.

I stand, mazes rotating, your body on the floor.

Still penetrate the floor.

               Then the walls were

                              singing, your body. Scream.

                              I walked in to that place of purchase, stimulant,

                smelled the rage.

I walked on my own,

I saw death with brakes.

               Wistful I

had an unlife,

               and now it's all dead,

                              just like the last one.

The End

You have reached the end of "The Spark is Up and Running". This story is complete.

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