Blog loving music poetry WRITING

blood stained

blood stained

alone by the brook i hear the chiming of a bird, its beacon a source of mastery that leads me to hold my breath, silenced by the mystery of tongues that taste the greens of spring only to digest the golds of autumn. my bottom lip quivers as i gain the courage to call out to a reconstructed sky, its ardent surface melting my tears to wax.

“am i alive?” i cry.

sapphire returns to me an arrogant blindness from which it becomes easy to borrow glory and identify my breasts as cannons of war that placed in a soldiers hands becomes essential to nourish not only his success but a nation’s. just as my nude body becomes one with the brook the bird chimes once more, giving pause to the blood flowing between my legs as birth becomes the milk of martyrdom.

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