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Little Sister Don't...
Little sister, don't vomit my blood. With a voice soft pleading from the crypt of my mind. Of fleas and flies, letting the ghost pass, friars which art in heaven. Swallowing meals, breaking bread, and hunting game. Destroying everything that rises. In darkness lost of petrified frost in eyes of my coldness. As if Elijah, a wooden Indian made of stone echoing sounds of wind-fed skeletons.
As the phallus of the night lay on my pillow the torment weeps a pestle petticoat. In the ossuary of tiny bones attached to a crucifix of all tomorrows. Sopping the soft marrow of the night in hell's suet. Feeling the devil of the tarot in my earthly wear. Scarring my ego beneath my caul of motherly love. Without even flowers.
As the phallus of the night lay on my pillow the torment weeps a pestle petticoat. In the ossuary of tiny bones attached to a crucifix of all tomorrows. Sopping the soft marrow of the night in hell's suet. Feeling the devil of the tarot in my earthly wear. Scarring my ego beneath my caul of motherly love. Without even flowers.
Published 16th Sep 2021
| Edited 17th Sep 2021
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Anonymous
- Edited 9th Apr 2022 5:45am
17th Sep 2021 4:40pm
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