24/6/2021
Feed the fire with brittle coal, dark as night staining your palms but you smear it on your pretty white laced dress,
you say it's better than having dirt on your hands and perhaps you meant it literally, perhaps metaphorically; unfortunately your eyes refuse to give away the truth.
But you don't know how to properly light the coals for the hearth, you nourish the flame the wrong way and its going to kill us both.
You'll suffocate in this house of cards, and then we'll both have dirt on our hands.
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬ᵖᵒᵉᵗʳʸ
Poetry𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨 (n.) 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘤 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦, 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯; 𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘻𝘰𝘯 Poems posted daily, for every day of the year. Works of an undefined theme with a touch of fantastical elements as well as a healthy dose of r...
