I am your love’s villain,
The little piece of war,
To mark a memory and a nightmare.

(Make sure you sound tough, like it didn’t hurt that bad)

You tore our chapter from your book And it reads like it was never there You reunited with her
And you now have a daughter
And if you ever treat her like you did me…

(Collect yourself, no one likes an angry woman, ( Read more... )

I know suffering.

There is a way

to guide it to bed

with careful ken.

Cradled on my own scars,

lifting the linen to carefully pull over

the shivering child

that reached out and did not receive.

Keen to the frailty and vitality of both

itself and its victims.

This is compassion.

Conjuring a lullaby to

soothe and separate

one that oppresses and one ( Read more... )

Brandish

The work begins as the light fades,
to temper the black with madness and beauty. The brain awakens with a sad soliloquy. "I’m enneagram 4…why?"

And I brandish, because brandish is a beautiful word, a paintbrush made of my own hair and bone.
"There are no bones in ice cream."

I came to paint over your face, to resemble one that adores me. ( Read more... )

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