dirty hands, this chapel is closed
indefinite flesh prison/hatred
a blood moon – eclipse
I must have been an angel in the beginning
a raped viking vessel
try me, fucker, try my eyes
like lies and liars and sinners
I must have given myself to the flame
scarlet ink, gunpowder, hitched skirts,
string me up on your bloody bleeding cross
your finger to my lips
how do they taste
the wind laced/poison breath
the harbor reminds me of death
Sometimes I do not think that I deserve to be loved.
I am strange,
I take swords to my chest, you see,
and I plunge them deep
whenever the corners of my mouth lift too high,
for my own liking.
I then pull them out and push them in again
The pain of it lingers, though I stopped crying out a long time ago.
The pain of cracking my own chest open,
and hoping beyond hope that I like what I see.
And the hope that you, darling, like it too.