xxviii. YOU ASKED ME HOW
I FELT ABOUT GOD.
i found god in their bodies after all they've sinned for. my blood stained fingertips crystallized into molded black swans and cooing doves. graze gravestones, break the cross into pieces while tearing my skin away. i left this scripture for you, praying on bruised knees that you see what has been destroyed. you'll find it long after i bury us alive, shove it into the broken corners of your coffin.
maybe then you believe in the after life.
VOUS LISEZ
what tomorrow brings.
Poésiexvii, april. (iii). you have no voice if no one is listening. © playlist poetry h.r. : #3
