the king sleeps and death waits at his door
i hug myself and the gold cloth sticks to me
the sun is high and the ceiling is cracked
the heart bares hate like trees weep blood
life shakes and follows the shining edge
the flowering church watches the world
in self indulgent contempt
how the bleeding people lie with ease
ballooning brains outgrowing the shell
smelling the burning of the bleeding people
so so slowly towards the ceiling
wisps slip through the cracks while i cry
gilded me gilded me
eyes on the searing roots of the bleeding people
the bleeding people will never forget me
bleeding souls which cannot be saved
furious light rips me apart
flowers are mantled over my eyes
how they live watching me burn
vampiric shame drinks from me
im watched forever and the eyes dont close
slitted golden walls and rippling water
im placed in the prison of bloodied hands
the shame of being a bleeding person
YOU ARE READING
my darkest mind
Poetryoh, my darkest mind, still as you incarnadine me in vain, you behold me as i fall. deeper, my darkest mind, roiling in fury, the fever you gift me, pain that befalls me, obsidian once sharp had since dulled to reveal the rectification of what used...
