the tides shift within me,
foamy waves crash on jagged cliffs
pounding, ebbing, flowing
Darkness consumes me from the
not a glimmer of light to be found, just
sharp teeth and gruesome bodies
a storm brews
Heavy clouds turning the sky black
for what feels like eternity
thunder so loud
I hope it kills me

the dove, my Love, is dying
Blood seeps through her
soft white feathers
a dark red stain that I can’t
wash out
the fire in my belly suffocates
devoid of oxygen, wicker
burnt out

somewhere, a child is crying
begging her mother to stay
a fountain of tears, marred by
the ones you can’t see hurt
the most

I am dark and heavy and
blood and love, but not
the good kind
I am the painful, hopeful,
hopeless, bleeding

Featured in Edition 1 of The Dilettante.

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