Molten liquid pulsing
darkness, growing
origami wings, tearing
through walls to reach
you, taste your little
death, so delicate
my tongue among
rotting sockets,
loving the husk
you left me.
Author's Note: I read somewhere that some butterflies feed on remains. That inspired a poem about transforming as though in a chrysalis, only to return to the decay of a dead relationship and keep dissecting it.
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Shadows & Dust [poetry]
PoetryMost of my poetry is autobiographical. I write about living with bipolar disorder, dating, single parenting, my neo-pagan spiritual beliefs, my dreams, and sometimes popular folklore. Many of these pieces come from my self-published collections...