and by the virtue of a dying god,
I laid open some old thoughts,
and assassinated each one
by
one,
the blood spurred on my face, the
fates danced in my dreams, I saw
a night so young and delectable,
that I ejaculated my venom, rubbing
against its folds, my heart stung,
it’s a morning of blossoming
shades, lilac and violet, that I enclose
in my arms,
the winds whip my hair gently, the sun consumes
my face by its silent glare, fuchsia rings adorn my
brown cheek, and I decide that it is time to sleep-
my face upheld by the strings of the sky, mouth open
for hovering bees – there’s a certain kind of violence in it.
.
A fragmented and anxious piece for Day # 7 of my 30 Days, 30 Poems Challenge.
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