"Do you really think I ate the seeds unwillingly?"-Anonymous
He kisses me. Pomegranate.
I am his all over. Here, right here,
death rolls of the tongue almost romantically,
shielding the need, undeniable.
Temptation.
Mama. There is nothing awful about such a
passion as this, as what lies here.
Yes, he is
bad but he
coaxes my
brisk summer from right out within me.
I am ready to cure with the palms of my hands
in the way you taught us how to
cradle dead things between each
finger, wearing the bloodshed like wedding rings
hoping for air to fill barren lungs.
Whisper healing into ears closed from
doubted hysteria.
He kneels before his queen,
head to my knee.
He is everything right with all things wrong.
Mother;
he gave me meaning behind god hood.
Reason, simply to be immortal for.
His lonely is loving a world that hates him from
taking the lost and storing it somewhere
wholesome. Death is no fear.
His hands spread out like the soil beneath my
feet, planting spring upon cold thighs
mother. He is exactly what beckons the petals out from
within me.
God of death, lover of life.
He. Hades. I will walk to him willingly.
We are trapped in different hells
but his is the kind of place I long to make a
home in.
Mother:
Do you really think that the seeds where forced
down my throat?
That we are not equal enough for me to make
my own choice?
There's a warmth in him that can burn the rest
and here I am:
moth to the flame
feasting. Oh such glorious
light from such a brutal darkness.
Warmth from cold as icy as the word freeze-
Mother.... Can't you hear me?
I have fallen in love with a shadow, a man who's
shown a version of me clearer in bouquets of dark.
Hades has offered me his kingdom.
As black as a ravens wing,
As painful as 62 blooded tallies to the heart.
No exit wounds needed;
No night skies with bullet holes to squeeze
spring through.
You are my rose garden.
He beckons me forward, he shows me what
the world looks like spilt in two for love.
Mother,
I don't need redemption. I just need him.
YOU ARE READING
Vultures And Other Vulnerabilities.
Poetry"I hope it gives you the same satisfaction as finishing a really good book, Or kissing someone, and not walk away feeling like they have taken something from you."
