It is 4 am
and I woke dreaming of you.
Laced with holly and lavender
-purple does looks so nice on you
I felt rips inside my chest and
couldn’t breathe again.
Moon dropped tears
of spite
and scorched
bridges
are what we have here.
Yours alone,
but I am afraid
of being alone.
Locked in boxes
I don’t have keys to.
—
‘Take the fingers from your flute
to weave your colored yarns’
I miss them
and you,
but I’m sure you know.
So here it goes-
one more song to sing.
I have splattered the blood now
cast myself unto its throne.
As things get cloudier,
I can wait for your rains.
Cleanse this filth,
that has cradled its arms
around my sight.