grave letters ✓

14

in your uncolored eyes- callista, i unravel the creases from when the evening stars adorn themselves in sacramental wine, bathed in sun-splotched flattery and holy grail upon your checkered tablecloth.

marmalade scabbed in your cupid's bow, my tongue between your thighs and your fingers around my heart- if i was birthed from the last breath of the undying sun, the edges of your waves are painted in the eventide.

for you, callista; i metamorphosise myself into the hypocritical sibilations of these blind men, perhaps you'd choose me to be the euphemism for your rotten sins(?)

you recite the infinite reveries of the salt grounds of mother earth and the worms that feed on your sour skin, every existing metaphor, and the tearing apart of your beaten heart so the angels could stumble upon an eerie resemblance of an agonized god- they'd cut chunks off of their silver-stitched wings 'til your green gardens are abundant in pixie dust. 

you slaughter the soldiers of god, they were never worthy of milk-stained feathers anyway. it's a bloody massacre in here, a young goddess had gone feral- a paroxysm of needless wrath. 

"war is coming. bloodshed is inevitable. so there's really only one thing to do."

"Uh... and that is?"

"why, have tea and chat, obviously"