Crossroad King,
with inflamed eyes-
Let me grab your throat-
string
blood life
-and stitch it to my own
Pick your nail beds,
scrape your suffering into keepsake jars.
Line your halls with them,
present your trophies of
‘my pain is far greater’
Burn it down,
defeat the one who smolders,
a reminder of your own shortcomings,
and you his.
This moon-scarred demon of the bridge and roads
of light
and fears.
Some questions can’t be answered,
and some shouldn’t.
Two sides of some forgotten coin,
different makes/
metals,
but tender all the same.
—
Walk through the
city hidden in the sound.