killing boys | 1.1

001; boys of the honeysucker bees

my boy

doesn't love me, / love me / more than persephone, her flowers / more than gothel, her daughter's hair / more than bees that love to sting / and wasps that bite and stay there. / i presume, you're worse than a wasp / because you bit me over and over,/ but didn't dare to stay;

an angel with a heart that rots / said he'd follow me to / the gateways of hell. / my feet ached from hanging off of those footnotes my mural, my baby left me / but i gave him a gift, / i built him a tomb. / so my baby could rest / i want his eyes to glue close together/  so that / i can draw on him / finer arts than a mortician / but he's a silly, silly boy / who didn't dare to stay

and what do we do to the boys?

we sting them.

───

© erys aden 2022 | 22.01.22