Channels

Even the roses smell of death
even your halo pierces my flame
glaciating all of my inner symmetry
I crawl out of the ugliness of you
carrying a banner of weeping redemption,

I wear your pestilence as a shroud
my purgement tapers within the
curl of a nightshade rainbow
tethered to the giggling teardrop
that swims out of a broken cerise
tributary quilted by a blind tertiary lantern.

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