i would not be many things right now and the first on that list is, me.
for so many decembers have prayed on my palms but the hunger
never leaves the streets. i bite the famine on my heart every night
and nothing comes out of it. there's shadows of me i want to hide and
there's a prophecy i've been living: women with rage end up in hell.
people say tossing coins into the wishing well would bring my childhood back.
i have said it before and i'll say it again; this world is built on ruthless guillotines
of hope. my half-lived life is stored in the garnet socks nani has kept treasured.
the angels in the unvisited room have been crying. this is the last call to wrath.
shout.
