My final reality should brand your face, imprinting you with my blood for as long as you live.
My final reality should haunt you, like the bloody knife in my lacerated stomach.
My final reality should taunt you, like a sadistic bully [like the ones you invited into my soul, beaconing them across the threshold.]
My final reality should burn, cut, sting and heal all at once (like the people who lay with me days before that silver knife crept up my neck, speaking its sweet realities, hissing like the snakes I adored].
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YOU ARE READING
A Culmination Of Realities
PoetryAs we float through life, victimized by circumstance and stalked by rumours, we come to understand that false rumours have opposites: realities. These are the realities to which this book is dedicated. These realities share only truth, for some are...
