the bushels of cornflowers were alive
going in motion with your twisted fingers
capes of fear so bloody we are
locked in the shock of the waves
your nails painted so pretty in my syntax
weapons that wail so violently
to the now empty tomb of your mother
letting blood drip off your eyes
stars shine bright in this shuttle of mine
astronaut all alone in your love
you bring me to wretching
become the sleeping token of the beast
i bruised my knuckles on the hope i had
leaving a print of my hatred there
kiss the cuts on my heart again
YOU ARE READING
if not human
Poetrythe 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
