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it is time to get out of bed;
mankind has unmade me but century-
old Ostara cradles my frayed self.
gnarled and frost-rotten,
it hurts to go on but on the season goes.
it is time to dig myself free;
on my deathbed, i lack the will to be
humble. i gave 'til i got. every act
of mine will be etched into millennium,
a transcendence of loose tongues. i say:
i was here. i was there. i want to be
EVERYWHERE.
—circa April, '20
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obscura; poetry for the damned & divine (part i)
Poetry"tongue obscura, forbidden thought made real. this isn't real; love but in fragments. " poems for the monstrously beautiful; for girls with too much hair and too many teeth; for bodies made of acid; for the stepdaughters and forgotten sons; for the...
