i
in a field of daisies,
a blooming black rose
petals stained with darkness
edges flecked with stardust.
ii
sure hands coax life from between straining thighs
accusations thrown like verbal rocks
we worship no god
inner faith is our daily bread
it sustains us like.
iii
they tie us to fiery posts
to scorch away the sin
little do they know
that ancient fire fills our veins
setting our blood aflame
watch us burn so that we can be reborn.
YOU ARE READING
it's 3 am and i'm still thinking of you
PoetryA collection of poems and liquorice-tinged thoughts.
