Poetry, Quill


Through the dripping hollows of my resentful body,
Beneath the scarlet branches of my bosom,
Constellations stretched alongside the soft hair that defines my femininity,
Near the flower forced to blossom, drenched in blood that proves my femininity
Calloused hands: the doom of my body
Time slips across the temple of my patched skin
The torn veil of sanity brushed over parts that lie numb
My body is just an addition to the sea of bodies that drown in the entirety of a teardrop planet.
A wave of darkness; the tyranny of the body ends here, and my soul escapes.
It floats through the sadness the body drowned in while it was alive,
There’s no sailor the siren can allure,
There is no flesh, the skin rots.
What fed is now feast.

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