"gold, its gold," he said. wishing for to be
so. thinking back on it i never held
it. the gold he always longed for. to be
drained of your stars and your spirit. alas,
before he left, he gave to me the truth.
the sparkling gold liquor, it was of the
gods. i was born with mere red blood. the mark
of a mortal. rapids of ichor flowed
through his mind well before he thought of me.
of all the things he said to me, i would
have never thought of "someday i hope to
find that this was never a waste of time,"
as anything other than idle talk. but,
turns out that he was thinking of something.
(bigger and brighter than me.)
YOU ARE READING
my darkest mind
Poetryoh, my darkest mind, still as you incarnadine me in vain, you behold me as i fall. deeper, my darkest mind, roiling in fury, the fever you gift me, pain that befalls me, obsidian once sharp had since dulled to reveal the rectification of what used...
