in which the willow wand of whispering willsreaches for the reverent red of regal resourcesand becomes the budding blossom of biblical beasts
a dye made from the petals of nature does not knowthe inner workings of a synthetic form. butwhen blended,they are the same.
all my life I’ve been leading for somethingsomething that didn’t give, felt I lived for something;nothing seems the same as we’re getting closecloser to the start, at the end of the road.
they scattered across the battlefields, sending bullets to heaven and cursing their enemies in a war waged by the blind where needles are daggers and casualties are inside you when will you let go?
soothsayers should not see themselves,leave the path untouchedlest you corrupt your own sight; seen too many battlesand almost as many victories,trying to keep the roof patched as arrows of fire sink into straw soothsayers should be blind,let fate draw the lines behind closed lids –believe. I want to believe.
and each time my chest tightens just a bit more,thoughts a Gordian knot of horrorsturn it off, please, just turn it off – reprieve is a paradise, and lost words a treasureand yet, when I speak, I go only to Hell first. bloody, I’m bloodybandages wrapped in barbs and hurtoffering a salve that will eventuallynumbContinue reading “water-logged chest.”
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