the dust settles soon after
along the edge of the primrose steps
as the moon kissed me goodbye
the christ-blood lovers
seeping into each other's arms
like a sickness with no cure
it seems so that we live
with our worst parts in tact
biting to get through skin
scripting our own deaths
to feel important in a moment
before the christmas lights go out
we wanted everything in its right place
so being skeptic is nothing
but a memory to us
and you know what distance is
how there's no difference
when it comes to us
but there's difference in distance
with a knife in its escape
an escape to perfect place
and maybe i could sleep forever
but baby you're my dreams
so sleep means suicide to me
YOU ARE READING
if not human
Poéziathe anthology of emotion, the passing of life, the epilogue of pure, unfiltered regret this is "if not human" poems, prose and stories from the dark
